SO]^GS 


Sacred  axd  Devotiojstal. 


Compiled   by 


H.     0.     FOSTER 


ILL  USTRA  TED. 


NEW    YORK  : 

JOHN     W.     LOVELL,     Publisher, 

14  AND  16  AsTOR  Place. 


COPYBIGHT,    1880, 


PRESS  Of    J.    J.    LITTLE  U  LO  , 
NOS.    ID    TO    2J    ASTOR    PLACE,    NEW    rOBK. 


PREFACE 


The  influences  which,  during  the  last  half  century, 
have  modified  the  rigor  of  the  prevailing  creeds  of 
Christendom,  have  not  been  few  nor  fleeting.  Theol- 
ogy has  relaxed  its  grim  features,  and  tacitly  abandoned 
or  put  out  of  sight,  one  by  one,  tenets  at  variance  with 
the  advanced  intelligence  and  religious  sentiment  of 
the  ago. 

The  Poets  have,  with  some  exceptions,  been  in  ad- 
vance of  the  theologians  in  giving  us  ideas  of  Provi- 
dence and  a  future  life,  consistent  with  the  wants  and 
analogies  of  our  nature,  and  not  at  variance  with 
the  teachings  of  revelation.  Poetry,  from  the  time 
of  Job,  has  been  the  mother  tongue  of  devotion  and 
prophecy ;  and  the  poets,  in  their  highest  moods,  have 
generally  been  true  to  those  inmost  assurances  of  the 
soul,  which  represent  a  God  and  an  after-life  in  keep- 
ing with  our  best  ideas  of  omnipotent  benignity  and 
love. 

It  will  require  but  a  casual  glance  to  see  that  this  is 
no  sectarian  book.  It  will  have  fulfilled  its  mission  if 
it  help  to  indicate  that  the  highest  human  conceptions 
of  the  Beautiful  and  the  True  are  in  accordance  with 


IV  PREFACE. 

the  faith  which,  in  the  spirit  of  Christ's  teaching,  can 
sincerely  and  consistently  address  the  Omnipotent  as 
^' our  Father,"  and  which  can  look  through  death  in 
the  serene  assurance  that  He  "  doeth  all  things  well,'' 
and  that  justice  will,  in  this  and  every  future  stage  of 
being,  be  ever  tempered  with  mercy. 


CONTENTS. 


RELIGIOUS  SONNETS. 

PAGE 

To  THE  Lord  op  Life E.  Spenser 3 

Why  should  we  fear  to  die Sir  Philip  Sidney 4 

Sleep .' Samuel  Daniel 4 

Immortality  of  the  Soul W.  Shakespeare 5 

Sleep,  Sweet  Father  of  Soft  Rest. .  W.  Drummond 6 

Human  Frailty "           '*            6 

To  a  Nightingale *'           "            7 

Milton's  Twenty-third  Year John  Milton 8 

On  the  Religious  Memory  of  Mrs. 

C.Thomson "          «'     8 

On  the  Late  Massacre  in  Piedmont.     *'          "     9 

On  the  Death  of  W.  Richard  West.  Thomas  Gray 10 

To  Hope Helen  M.  Williams 11 

Time  the  Only  Cure William  L.  Boivles 11 

To  Sleep William  Wordsivorth 12 

Sky-prospect "                    *'        12 

The  Virgin *'.                 "         13 

To  Nature S.  T.  Coleridge 14 

To  Time 31ary  Tighe 14 

To  a  Friend Charles  Lamb 15 

The  Omnipotent Horace  Smith 16 

The  Harvest  Moon Lord  Thurlow 16 

Spring Menezer  Elliott 27 


VI  COKTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  the  Harvest  Moon W.  S.  Eoscoe 18 

What  art  Thou,  Mighty  One H.  K.  White 18 

Misspent  Time Sir  A.  De  Vere 19 

The  Passion  Flower ''          "       30 

To  Liberty Lord  Byron 20 

The  Sea  in  Cahn £.  W.  Procter 21 

The  Setting  Sun John  Kehle 22 

The  Lilies  of  the  Field Mrs.  Remans 22 

On  a  Remembered  Picture  of  Christ.     "           "        23 

Flight  of  the  Spirit "           "        24 

Sabbath  Sonnet "           "        24 

Solitude John  Keats 25 

The  Human  Seasons "         "    26 

To  Sleep "         "    26 

The  Memory  of  the  Poets T.  iV.  Talfourd 27 

Night Hartley  Coleridge 28 

To  Shakespeare "                ''       28 

Prayer "                ''       29 

Prayer "                "       30 

On  Death Thomas  Hood 30 

A  Prayer Sir  W.  B.  Hamilton 31 

0  God,  impart  Thy  Blessing Charles  Turner 32 

The  Holy  Emerald "           ''       32 

The  Soul's  Expression Mrs.  Browning 33 

Bereavement "            "         34 

Consolation "      .       *'         34 

Tears ''            "         35 

Comfort "            *'         36 

Work ''            ''         36 

Come  unto  the  Feast H.  Alford 37 

To  a  Friend W.  C.  Roscoe 38 

To  a  Friend  in  Bereavement. . Sydney  Dohell 38 

In  the  Shadows David  Gray 39 

FAITH  AND   RELIGION. 

The  Love  of  God W.  C.  Bryafif 45 

Delight  in  God Francis  Quarles 46 

A  Thanksgiving  to  God  for  His 

House Robert  Herrick 48 


COKTEKTS.  Vll 

PAGE 

A  Christmas  Hymn Alfred  Domett 50 

Christmas  Carol John  Byrom 52 

"             "    Anonymous 53 

The  Star  of  Bethlehem W.  C.  Bryant 55 

The  Right  must  Win F.  W.  Fahcr 56 

Bound  upon  th'  Accursed  Tree H.  H.  3Iilman 58 

To  keep  a  True  Lent Rohert  Herri clc 59 

What  is  Prayer James  Montgomery 60 

Trust Alfred  Tennyson 62 

Up  Hill C.  G.  Rossetti 68 

Evening  Song Thomas  Miller 63 

The  Spirit-Land Jones   Very 65 

The  Land  of  Dreams William  Blake 65 

Not  Lost,  but  Gone  Before 3Irs.  Morton 66 

The  Flower George  Herbert 68 

The  Odor ''            "       69 

Complaining "            "       71 

Thou  art,  0  God Thomas  Moore 72 

This  World  is  all  a  Fleeting  Show.       "            "     73 

The  Better  Land Mrs.  Hemans 73 

They  are  all  Gone H.  Vaughoji 74 

The  Other  World H.  B.  Stowe 76 

The  Dying  Christian  to  the  Soul.  .Alex.  Pope 78 

God John  Bowring 78 

St.  Agnes'  Eve Alfred  Tennyson 82 

Tell  me,  ye  Winged  Winds Charles  Maclmy 83 

Joy  and  Peace  in  Believing William  Cowper 85 

Charity James  Montgomery 87 

The    Child    leans  on  its   Parent's 

Breast Isaac  Williams 87 


GLEANINGS  FROM  THE   POETS. 

Regeneration Hartley  Coleridge 91 

To  a  Child "  "        92 

To  a  Friend  in  Bereavement '*  "       93 

Religious  Differences  "  "        93 

On  a  Friend's  Death *'  "        94 

The  Word  of  God "  "       95 


Vlll  CON'TEKTS. 

PAGE 

Sonnets Hartley  Coleridge 96 

Sense,  if  you  can  find  It '*              "       102 

Who  Prayeth  Best S.  T.  Coleridge 103 

Man  Redeemable "            "         104 

Intimations  of  Immortality Wm.  Wordsworth 105 

Faith  by  Virtue "              "           109 

The  Responses  of  External  Nature.    "■              "           110 

Man  never  Irreclaimable "              "           110 

The  Moral  Law *'              "           Ill 

Ode  to  Duty ''              "           112 

The  Soul's  Recuperative  Energies .     "              "           114 

Spiritual  Population  of  the  Uni- 
verse  John  Milton 115 

Virtue  a  Light  to  Herself "          ''     116 

The  Penitent John  Sterling 117 

Divine  Discipline  towards  Man ''          "       118 

The  Soul  disciplined  to  see  God's 

Will ''          "       120 

The  Perpetual  Religion Horace  Smith 121 

A  Prayer "           "     123 

The  Quarrel  of  Faith,  Hope,  and 

Charity '*          "     123 

Moral  Alchemy "           "     127 

The  Heart's  Sanctuary "           "     130 

The  Departed  Spirit Andrews  Norton 131 

Submission "             "     132 

On  a  Friend's  Death ''  "     .133 

Matins  and  Vespers John  Bowring 134 

Hymn "           *'        137 

The  Beauties  of  Creation *'           ''        138 

Undeveloped  Good *'           "        139 

Destiny  of  the  Soul "           *'        140 

From  "In  Memoriam " Alfred  Tennyson 142 

Man  Immortal James  Montgomery 148 

To  One  in  Affliction *♦               "          149 

De  Profundis *'               "          150 

The  Soul's  Immortal  Origin "               "          151 

Forever  with  the  Lord **               "          152 

The  Dead  Friend Soutliey 154 

There  is  a  Tongue 3Irs.  Southey 156 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGE 

The  Pauper's  Death-bed Mrs.  Sotifhey 158 

Life  and  Death ''           "     160 

The  Infant's  Removal "           "      161 

Magdalene's  Hymn John  Wilson 163 

Consolation    from    God's  Visible 

Works "        "       164 

Immortal  Hopes "        "       165 

The  Evening  Cloud "        '<       166 

Reflection  of  a  Soul  on  Death Leigh  Hunt 167 

An  Angel  in  the  House **        '*     171 

AbouBenAdhem *'        "     172 

The  Road  of  Death **        "     .....172 

Providence "        *'     l73 

From  "  The  Death  of  Socrates  ".  .Lamartine 174 

Musings  in  the  Temple  of  Nature. .  Chatfield 178 

Repose  in  Faith. Bulwer  Lytton 181 

The  Land  which  no  Mortal  may- 
Know  Barton 183 

TooLate "     184 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity "     185 

Signs  and  Tokens "      186 

Farewell "      186 

Comfort  in  Aifliction Thomas  Moore 188 

But  who  shall  See "          ''      189 

Bliss  of  Heaven ''          "      190 

The  Return  of  Youth Bryant 191 

God's  Universal  Love James  Thomson 193 

Moral  of  the  Seasons "            *'        195 

The  Soul's  High  Destiny Sir  John  Davies 197 

Reasons  for  Immortality "               "       198 

Affliction's  Teachings '*               *'      200 

God  Provideth  for  the  Morrow Reginald  Heber 201 

On  the  Death  of  a  Brother "              "     202 

The  Widow  of  Nain ''             ''     203 

What  is  Religion "             "     204 

Cowper's  Grave Mrs.  Browning 206 

Cheerfulness "            "         : . . .  210 

God  is  Love 0.  W.  Holmes 212 

Virtue  the  sole  Happiness Alexander  Pope 215 

The  Universal  Prayer *'            ''    317 


X  COKTEI^TS. 

PAGE 

A  Dirge. Mrs.  Remans 220 

The  Lilies  of  the  Field "  "       221 

The  Birds  of  the  Air "  "       221 

Angel  Visits ''  "       222 

From  the  *'  Night  Thoughts  " Young 223 

Capacity  of  Man  for  Progress ScJieffer 230 

The  Hermit Farnell 232 

Edwin's  Meditations  in  Autumn.  .Beattie 241 

An  Address  to  the  Deity Mrs.  Barhauld 243 

The  Unknown  God "  "        246 

The  Inner  Law Bobert  Burns 248 

Charity "  "     249 

A  Prayer '*  "     250 

The  Hope  of  an  Hereafter Campbell 251 

Mount  Hope Bpes  Sargent 257 

The  Immortal  Mind Lord  Byron 261 

Couplets Trench 263 

Spring "      265 

Shortsightedness  of  Man "      266 

Trial  before  Reward Quarles 267 

The  Bridge  of  Sighs Hood 269 

FareweULife "     273 

Hope Sarah  F.  Adams 275 

Faith  in  Divine  Goodness "  "       276 

Nearer  to  Thee "  «'       277 

The  Child  and  the  Mourners Mackay 279 

The  Little  Moles "       281 

Old  Opinions <«       283 

We  are  Wiser  than  we  Know "       285 

Christmas  Carol Mary  Howitt 288 

Man's  Judgment «'        "      290 

Rejoicing  in  Heaven "         "      292 

The  Grave's  Victor <«         «'      293 

Song  of  the  Saints P.  J.  Bailey 295 

Life's  Ultimate  Knowledge "         *'     296 

The  Maiden's  Prayer «'         "      297 

Tauler. J.  Q.  Whittier 298 

The  Angel  of  Patience <«  '<        301 

Lines  in  Prospect  of  Death Robert  Nicoll 303 

Sermons  in  Sonnets C.  H.  Townshend 306 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

A  Question  and  Answer C.  H.  Townshend 346 

Wait ''  ''         347 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Songs  of  Being Anonymous 351 

Where  are  the  Dead "  354 

A  Dream  of  Heaven "  356 

Thoughts  for  the  Departed *'  358 

The  Happier  Sphere "  359 

Hope's  Brighter  Shore "  360 

Forgiveness  of  Error Butcher 361 

Conversion De  Vere 361 

The  Stars Anonymous 363 

Angelic  Mhiistry E.  Spenser 364 

God's  Love  Unchangeable Kelley 365 

Judge  Gently Anonymous 365 

Thou  art  not  Lost "  366 

The  Mission  of  Christ 3Irs.  Mayo 367 

The  Gospel's  Promises Ashworth 368 

A  Walk  in  a  Churchyard Anonymous 369 

Pupil  and  Tutor '*  371 

Life's  Discipline Davy 372 

Wisdom Anonymous 373 

All  Things  are  Yours H,  New 374 

The  Heart  of  Unbelief Harris 375 

The  Dead H.  Alford 377 

Promised  Light .    Anonymous 378 

Immortality "  379 

Christian  Trust P.  Gerhardt 380 

Live  and  Help  Live Alice  Carey 381 

Religious  Casuistry Anonymous 383 

The  Fountain  of  Grace 31.  Angelo 384 

The  Eloquent  Pastor L.  Blanchard 385 

Universality  of  Redemption Hodgson 386 

Blessed  are  the  Dead Longfellow 386 

Man  ever  Restless George  Herhert 387 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant Jane  Taylor 388 

Via  Crucis,  Via  Lucis Kosegarten 389 


Xll  COKTEI^TS. 

FAGi: 

My  Times  are  in  Thy  Hand Anonymous 390 

Fragments B.  M.  Milnes 391 

To  the  Dandelion J.  B.  Lowell 393 

The  Law  of  Mercy Anonymous 394 

Trust  in  Providence Helen  31.  Williams 395 

God's  Purposes W.  Cowper 396 

Nothing  Good  will  Perish J,  Hagen 397 

For  I  shall  yet  Praise  Him Breton 399 

The  Present  and  Future N.  P.  Willis 400 

God's  Mercies Addison 401 

The  Cry  of  the  Humble Lamartine 403 

The  Book  of  Nature John  Kehle 404 

Thy  Kingdom  Come Anonymous 405 

Assurance  of  God's  Love Caroline  Fry 406 

The  Unsearchable Gill 407 

The  Future  Life W.  C.  Bryant 409 

Not  for  Nought Blliott 411 

Faith Fritz  and  Leolett 412 

A  Sight  of  Heaven  in  Sickness. . .  .Isaac  Watts 413 

For  Help  in  Trouble Anonymous 414 

The  Lord's  Chastening John  Kehle 415 

Light  amid  Darkness W.  Coivpet-'. 417 

Practical  Devotion Jatie  Taylor 419 

Grace  and  Gratitude Gill 420 

The  Soul's  Reliance Philip  Doddridge 421 

Upward  Tendencies  of  the  Soul . . .  Akenside 422 

The  Rainbow Kehle 423 

Wisdom  and  Love Bowring 424 

To-Night J.  Blaiico  White 425 

Looking  to  Jesus T.  H.  Gill 426 

The  Saviour  of  All Editor 429 

All  Souls  are  Mine "      427 


ll^ligious    Suuiiets 


Religious    Sonnets. 


I 

TO   THE   LORD   OF   LIFE. 

Most  glorious  Lord  of  life !  that  on  this  day 

Didst  make  thy  triumph  over  death  and  sin, 

And  having  harrowed  hell,  didst  bring  away 

Captivity  thence  captive,  us  to  win : 

This  joyous  day,  dear  Lord,  with  joy  begin; 

And  grant  that  we,  for  whom  thou  diddest  die, 

Being  with  thy  dear  blood  clean  washed  from  sin, 

May  live  for  ever  in  felicity! 

And  that  tliy  love  we  weighing  worthily, 

May  likewise  love  Thee  for  the  same  again ; 

And  for  thy  sake,  that  all  like  dear  didst  buy, 

With  love  may  one  another  entertain. 

So  let  us  love,  dear  Love,  like  as  we  ought : 

Love  is  the  lesson  which  the  Lord  us  taught. 

Edmund  Spenser.— 1552  P-1599. 


KELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 
II 

WHY   SHOULD  WE  FEAR  TO  DIE? 

Since  Nature's  works  be  good,  and  death  doth  serve 
As  Nature's  work,  why  should  wo  fear  to  die? 
Since  fear  is  vain  but  when  it  may  preserve, 
Why  should  we  fear  that  which  we  cannot  fly? 
Fear  is  more  pain  than  is  the  pain  it  fears, 
Disarming  human  minds  of  native  might ; 
While  each  conceit  an  ugly  figure  bears 
Which  were  not  evil,  well  viewed  in  reason's  light. 
"Our  owly  eyes,  which  dimmed  with  passions  be, 
And  scarce  discern  the  dawn  of  coming  day. 
Let  them  be  cleared,  and  now  begin  to  see 
Our  life  is  but  a  step  in  dusty  way. 
Then  let  us  hold  the  bliss  of  peaceful  mind ; 
Since  this  we  feel,  great  loss  we  cannot  find. 

Sir  Philip  Sydney.— 1554-1586. 


Ill 

SLEEP. 


Care-charmer  Sleep,  son  of  the  sable  Night, 
Brother  to  Death,  in  silent  darkness  born, 
Relieve  my  languish,  and  restore  the  light; 
With  dark  forgetting  of  my  care  return, 
And  let  the  day  be  time  enough  to  mourn 
The  shipwreck  of  my  ill-adventured  youth : 
Let  waking  eyes  sufllice  to  wail  their  scorn, 
Without  the  torment  of  the  night's  untruth. 


RELIGIOUS  SONNETS. 

Cease,  dreams,  the  images  of  day-desires, 
To  model  forth  the  passions  of  the  morrow; 
Never  let  rising  Sun  approve  you  liars, 
To  add  more  grief  to  aggravate  my  sorrow: 
Still  let  me  sleep,  embracing  clouds  in  vain, 
And  never  wake  to  feel  the  day's  disdain. 

Samuel  Daniel.— 1562-1619. 


IV 
IMMORTALITY  OF  THE   SOUL. 

Poor  Soul,  tlie  centre  of  my  sinful  earth. 

Fooled  by  these  reljel  powers  that  thee  array, 

Why  dost  thou  pine  within  and  suffer  dearth 

Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  costly  gay  ?     '  I 

Why  so  large  cost,  having  so  short  a  lease,  J 

Dost  thou  upon  thy  fading  mansion  spend?  ' 

Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excess 
Eat  up  thy  charge?  is  this  thy  body's  end? 
Then,  Soul,"  live  thou  upon  thy  servant's  loss, 
And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  store ; 
Buy  terms  divine  in  selling  hours  of  dross ; 
Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more:  ' 
So  Shalt  thou  feed  on  Death,  that  feeds  on  men. 
And  Death  once  dead,  there's  no  more  dying  then! 
William  Shakspeare.— 1564-1616. 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  * 

V 

SLEEP,  SWEET  FATHER  OF  SOFT  REST. 

Sleep,  Silence'  child,  sweet  father  of  soft  rest. 
Prince  whose  approach  peace  to  all  mortals  brings, 
Indifferent  host  to  shepherds  and  to  kings. 
Sole  comforter  of  minds  with  grief  opprest ; 
Lo,  by  thy  charming-rod  all  breathing  things 
Lie  slumbering,  with  forgetfulness  possest, 
And  yet  o'er  me  to  spread  thy  drowsy  wings 
Thou  spares,  alas !  who  cannot  be  thy  guest. 
Since  I  am  thine,  O  come,  but  with  that  face 
To  inward  light  which  thou  art  wont  to  show ; 
With  feigned  solace  ease  a  true-felt  woe ; 
Or  if,  deaf  god,  thou  do  deny  that  grace, 
Come  as  thou  wilt,  and  what  thou  wilt  bequeath, — 
I  long  to  kiss  the  image  of  my  death. 

William  Drummond.— 1585-1649. 


VI 
HUMAN   FRAILTY. 


A  GOOD  that  never  satisfies  the  mind, 

A  beauty  fading  like  the  April  flowers, 

A  sweet  with  floods  of  gall  that  runs  combined, 

A  pleasure  passing  ere  in  thought  made  ours, 

A  honour  that  more  fickle  is  than  wind, 

A  glory  at  opinion's  frown  that  lowers, 

A  treasury  which  bankrupt  time  devours, 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

A  knowledge  than  grave  ignorance  more  blind, 

A  vain  deliglit  our  equals  to  command, 

A  stj^le  of  greatness,  in  effect  a  dream, 

A  fabulous  thought  of  holding  sea  and  land, 

A  servile  lot,  decked  with  a  pompous  name: 

Are  the  strange  ends  we  toil  for  here  below, 

Till  wisest  death  make  us  our  errors  know. 

WiLLiAiM  Drummond. — 1585-1649. 


VII 
TO  A  NIGHTINGALE. 


Sweet  bird,  that  sing'st  away  the  early  hours, 

Of  winters  past  or  coming  void  of  care. 

Well  pleased  with  delights  which  present  are, 

Fair  seasons,  budding  sprays,  sweet-smelling  flowers ; 

To  rocks,  to  springs,  to  rills,  from  leafy  bowers 

Thou  thy  Creator's  goodness  dost  declare. 

And  what  dear  gifts  on  thee  he  did  not  spare, 

A  stain  to  human  sense  in  sin  that  lowers. 

What  soul  can  be  so  sick  which  by  thy  songs, 

Attired  in  sweetness,  sweetly  is  not  driven 

Quite  to  forget  earth's  turmoils,  spites,  and  wrongs, 

And  lift  a  reverend  eye  and  thought  to  heaven! 

Sweet  artless  songster,  thou  my  mind  dost  raise 

To  airs  of  spheres,  yes,  and  to  angels'  lays. 

William  Drummond.— 1585-1649. 


8  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

VIII 

MILTON'S   TWENTY-THIRD   YEAR. 

How  soon  hath  Time,  the  subtle  tliief  of  youth, 

Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three-and-twentieth  year ! 

My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career, 

But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th. 

Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near ; 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  mucli  less  appear, 

That  some  more  timely-happy  spirits  indu'th. 

Yet  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow. 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even. 

To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high, 

Toward  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven. 

All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so. 

As  ever  in  my  great  task-Master's  eye. 

John  MiLTON.~1608-16r4. 


IX 

ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  MEMORY  OP  MRS.  CATH- 
ERINE  THOMSON, 

MY   CHRISTIAN   FRIEND,   DECEASED   16   DECEMBER,    1646. 

When  Faith  and  Love,  which  parted  from  thee  never, 
Had  ripened  thy  just  soul  to  dwell  with  God, 
Meekly  thou  didst  resign  this  earthy  load 
Of  death,  called  life,  which  us  from  life  doth  sever. 
Thy  worka  and  alms  and  all  thy  good  endeavour 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

Stayed  not  behind,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod ; 
But,  as  Faith  pointed  with  her  golden  rod. 
Followed  thee  up  to  joy  and  bliss  forever. 
Love  led  them  on,  and  Faith,  who  knew  them  best, 
Thy  liandmaids,  clad  them  o'er  with  purple  beams 
And  azure  wicgs,  that  up  they  flew  so  drest. 
And  spake  the  truth  of  thee  on  glorious  themes 
Before  the  Judge;  who  thenceforth  bid  thee  rest, 
And  drink  thy  fill  of  pure  immortal  streams. 

John  Milton.— 1608-1674. 


X 

ON  THE  LATE  MASSACRE  IN  PIEDMONT. 

Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saints,  whose  bones 
Lie  scattered  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold ; 
Even  tliem  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 
When  all  our  fathers  worshipped  stocks  and  stones, 
Forget  not:  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 
"Who  were  thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piemontese,  that  rolled 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 
The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  Heaven.     Their  martyred  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O'er  all  the  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth  sway 
The  triple  Tyrant ;  that  from  these  may  grow 
A  hundredfold,  who  having  learnt  thy  way, 
Early  may  fiy  the  Babylonian  woe. 

John  Milton.— 1608-1674. 


1* 


10  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XI 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  RICHARD   WEST. 

In  vain  to  me  the  smiling  mornings  shine, 
And  reddening  Phoebus  lifts  his  golden  fire; 
The  birds  in  vain  their  amorous  descant  join, 
Or  cheerful  fields  resume  their  green  attire : 
These  ears,  alas !  for  other  notes  repine, 
A  different  object  do  these  eyes  require; 
M}^  lonely  anguish  melts  no  heart  but  mine, 
And  in  my  breast  the  imperfect  joys  expire. 
Yet  morning  smiles  the  busy  race  to  cheer, 
And  new-born  pleasure  brings  to  happier  men; 
The  fields  to  all  their  wonted  tribute  bear, 
To  warm  their  little  loves  the  birds  complain: 
I  fruitless  mourn  to  him  that  cannot  hear. 
And  weej)  the  more  because  I  weep  in  vain. 

Thomas  Gray.— 1716-1771. 


XII 
TO   HOPE. 


O  EVER  skilled  to  wear  the  form  we  love ! 
To  bid  the  shapes  of  fear  and  grief  depart; 
Come,  gentle  Hope !  with  one  gay  smile  remove 
The  lasting  sadness  of  an  aching  heart. 
Thy  voice,  benign  enchantress!  let  me  hear; 
Say  that  for  me  some  pleasures  yet  shall  bloom, — 
That  fancy's  radiance,  friendship's  precious  tear, 
Shall  soften,  or  shall  chase,  misfortune's  gloom. 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  11 

Bdt  come  not  glowing  in  the  dazzling  ray 
"Wliich  once  with  clear  ilhisious  charmed  my  eye; 
O  strew  no  more,  sweet  flatterer!  on  my  w^ay 
The  flowers  I  fondly  thought  too  bright  to  die: 
Visions  less  fair  will  soothe  my  pensive  breast, 
That  asks  not  happiness,  but  longs  for  rest. 

Helen  Maria  Williams.— 176^1828. 


XIII 

TIME  THE  ONLY  CURE. 

O  Time!  who  know'st  a  lenient  hand  to  lay 
Softest  on  sorrow's  wound,  and  slowly  thence, 
Lulling  to  sad  repose  the  weary  sense, 
The  faint  pang  stealest  unperceived  away; 
On  thee  I  rest  my  only  hope  at  last, 
And  think,  when  thou  hast  dried  the  bitter  tear 
That  flows  in  vain  o'er  all  my  soul  held  dear, 
T.  may  look  back  on  every  sorrow  past, 
And  meet  life's  peaceful  evening  with  a  smile; — 
As  some  lone  bird,  at  day's  departing  honr, 
Sings  in  the  sunbeam,  of  the  transient  shower 
Forgetful,  though  its  wings  are  wet  the  while: 
Yet  ah !  how  much  must  that  poor  heart  endure, 
"Which  hopes  from  thee,  and  thee  alone,  a  cure ! 
William  Lisle  Bowles. —1763-1850. 


12  KELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XIV 

TO   SLEEP. 

Fond  words  have  oft  been  spoken  to  thee,  Sleep! 
And  thou  liast  liad  thy  store  of  tenderest  names; 
The  very  sweetest  Fancy  culls  or  frames, 
When  thankfulness  of  heart  is  strong  and  deep! 
Dear  Bosom-child  we  call  thee,  that  dost  steep 
In  rich  reward  all  suffering;  Balm  that  tames 
All  anguish;  Saint  that  evil  thoughts  and  aims 
Takest  away,  and  into  souls  dost  creep, 
Like  to  a  breeze  from  heaven.      Shall  I  alone, 
I  surely  not  a  man  ungently  made. 
Call  thee  worst  Tyrant  by  which  Flesh  is  crost? 
Perverse,  self-willed  to  own  and  to  disown. 
Mere  slave  of  them  who  never  for  thee  prayed, 
Still  last  to  come  where  thou  art  wanted  most! 

William  Words wokth.— 1770-1850. 


XV 
SKY-PROSPECT 

from  the  plain  of  FRANCE. 

Lo!  in  the  burning  west,  the  craggy  nape 
Of  a  proud  Ararat!  and,  thereupon. 
The  Ark,  her  melancholy  voyage  done! 
Yon  rampant  cloud  mimics  a  lion's  shape; 
There,  combats  a  huge  crocodile — agape 
A  golden  spear  to  swallow !  and  that  brown 
And  massy  grove,  so  near  yon  blazing  town, 
Stirs  and  recedes — destruction  to  escape! 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  13 

Yet  all  is  harmless— as  the  Elysian  shades 
Where  spirits  dwell  in  undisturbed  repose — 
Silently  disappears,  or  quickly  fades: 
Meek  Nature's  evening  comment  on  the  shows 
That  for  oblivion  take  their  daily  birth 
From  all  the  fuming  vanities  of  Earth! 

William  Wokdsworth. — 1770-1850. 


XVI 

THE  VIRGIN. 


Mother  !  whose  virgin  bosom  was  uncrost 
With  the  least  shade  of  thought  to  sin  allied; 
Woman  !  above  all  women  glorified, 
Our  tainted  nature's  solitary  boast ; 
Purer  than  foam  on  central  ocean  tost; 
Brighter  than  eastern  skies  at  daybreak  strewn 
With  fancied  roses,  than  the  unblemished  moon 
Before  her  wane  begins  on  heaven's  blue  coast; 
Thy  Image  falls  to  earth.     Yet  some,  I  ween, 
Not  unforgiven  the  suppliant  knee  might  bend, 
As  to  a  visible  Power,  in  which  did  blend 
All  that  was  mixed  and  reconciled  in  Thee 
Of  mother's  love  with  maiden  purity, 
Of  high  with  low,  celestial  with  terrene! 

William  Wordsworth. — 1770-1850. 


14  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XVII 

TO    NATURE. 

It  may  indeed  l)e  phantasy  when  I 

Essay  to  draw  from  all  created  things 

Deep,  heartfelt,  inward  joy  that  closely  clings ; 

And  trace  in  leaves  and  flowers  that  round  me  lie 

Lessons  of  love  and  earnest  piety. 

So  let  it  be ;  and  if  the  wide  world  rings 

In  mock  of  this  belief,  to  me  it  brings 

Nor  fear,  nor  grief,  nor  vain  perplexity. 

So  will  I  build  my  altar  in  the  iields, 

And  the  blue  sky  my  fretted  dome  shall  be, 

And  the  sweet  fragrance  that  the  wild  flower  yields 

Shall  be  the  incense  I  will  yield  to  Thee, 

Thee  only  God!  and  Thou  shalt  not  despise 

Even  me,  the  priest  of  this  poor  sacrifice. 

Samuel  Taylok  Col,eridge.~1773-1834. 


XVIII 
TO   TIME. 


Yes,  gentle  Time,  thy  gradual,  healing  hand 

Hath  stolen  from  Sorrow's  grasp  the  envenomed  dart; 

Submitting  to  thy  skill,  my  passive  heart 

Feels  that  no  grief  can  thy  soft  power  withstand ; 

And  though  my  aching  breast  still  heaves  the  sigh, 

Though  oft  the  tear  swells  silent  in  mine  eye ; 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  15 

Yet  the  keen  pang,  the  agony  is  gone ; 
Sorrow  and  I  shall  part ;  and  these  faint  throes 
Are  but  the  remnant  of  severer  woes : 
As  when  the  furious  tempest  is  o'erblown, 
And  when  the  sky  has  wept  its  violence, 
The  opening  heavens  will  oft  let  fall  a  shower, 
The  i^oor  overcharged  boughs  still  drops  dispense, 
And  still  the  loaded  streams  in  torrents  pour. 

Mary  Tighe.— 1773-1810. 


XIX 

TO  A  FRIEND. 


Friend  of  my  earliest  years  and  childish  clays, 
My  joys,  my  sorrows,  thou  with  me  hast  shared, 
Companion  dear,  and  we  alike  have  fared 
(Poor  pilgrims  we)  through  life's  unequal  ways; 
It  were  unwisely  done,  should  we  refuse 
To  cheer  our  path  as  featly  as  we  may. 
Our  lonely  path  to  cheer,  as  travellers  use. 
With  merry  song,  quaint  tale,  or  roundelay ; 
And  we  will  sometimes  talk  past  troubles  o'er, 
Of  mercies  shewn,  and  all  our  sickness  healed. 
And  in  his  judgments  God  remembering  love; 
And  we  will  learn  to  praise  God  evermore 
For  those  glad  tidings  of  great  joy  revealed 
By  that  sooth  Messenger  sent  from  above. 

Charles  Lamb.— 1775-1834. 


16  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XX 

THE   OMNIPOTENT. 

Eternal  and  Omnipotent  Unseen! 

Wlio  bad'st  the  world,  with  all  its  lives  complete, 

Start  from  the  void  and  thrill  beneath  thy  feet, 

Thee  I  adore  with  reverence  serene; 

Here,  in  the  fields,  thine  own  cathedral  meet, 

Built  by  thyself,  star-roofed,  and  hung  with  green, 

AVherein  all  breathing  things  in  concord  sweet, 

Organed  by  winds,  perpetual  hymns  repeat. 

Here  hast  thou  spread  that  book  to  every  eye. 

Whose  tongue  and  truth  all,  all  may  read  and  prove, 

On  whose  three  blessed  leaves,  Earth,  Ocean,  Sky, 

Thine  own  right  hand  hath  stamped  might,  justice,  love; 

Grand  Trinity,  which  binds  in  due  degree 

God,  man,  and  brute,  in  social  unity. 

Horace  Smith.— 1779-1849. 


XXI 

THE   HARVEST   MOON. 

The  crimson  moon,  uprising  from  the  sea 
With  large  delight,  foretells  the  harvest  near: 
Ye  shepherds,  now  prepare  your  melody 
To  greet  the  soft  appearance  of  lier  sphere; 
And,  like  a  page  enamoured  of  her  train. 
The  star  of  evening  glimmers  in  the  west: 
Then  raise,  ye  shepherds,  your  observant  strain, 
That  so  of  the  Great  Shepherd  here  are  blest. 


RELIGIOUS    SONNETS.  ] 

Our  fields  are  full  with  the  time- ripened  grain, 
Our  vineyards  with  the  purple  clusters  swell ; 
Her  golden  splendour  glimmers  on  the  main, 
And  vales  and  mountains  her  bright  glory  tell : 
Then  sing,  ye  shepherds,  for  the  time  is  come 
When  we  must  bring  the  enriched  harvest  home. 
Lord  Thurlow.— 1781-1829. 


XXII 
SPRING. 


Again  the  violet  of  our  early  days 

Drinks  beauteous  azure  from  the  golden  sun, 

And  kindles  into  fragrance  at  his  blaze ; 

The  streams,  rejoiced  that  winter's  work  is  done, 

Talk  of  to-morrow's  cowslips  as  they  run. 

Wild  apple !  thou  art  bursting  into  bloom ; 

Thy  leaves  are  coming,   snowy-blossomed  thorn! 

Wake,  buried  lily !   spirit,  quit  thy  tomb ; 

And  thou,  shade-loving  hyacinth,  be  born ! 

Then  haste,  sweet  rose !   sweet  woodbine,  hymn  the  mom, 

Whose  dew-drops  shall  illume  with  pearly  light 

Each  grassy  blade  that  thick  embattled  stands 

From  sea  to  sea;  while  daisies  infinite 

Uplift  in  praise  their  little  glowing  hands, 

O'er  every  hill  that  under  heaven  expands. 

Ebenezer  Elliott.— 1781-1849. 


18  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XXIII 

TO   THE  HARVEST  MOON. 

Again  thou  reignest  in  thy  golden  hall, 
Rejoicing  in  thy  sway,  fair  queen  of  night. 
The  ruddy  reapers  hail  thee  with  delight : 
Theirs  is  the  harvest,  theirs  the  joyous  call 
For  tasks  well  ended  ere  the  season's  fall. 
Sweet  orb,  thou  smilest  from  thy  starry  height ; 
But  whilst  on  them  thy  beams  are  shedding  bright, 
To  me  thou  com'st  o'ershadowed  with  a  pall: 
To  me  alone  the  year  hath  fruitless  flown ; 
Earth  hath  fulfilled  her  trust  through  all  her  lands. 
The  good  man  gathereth  now  where  he  had  sown. 
And  the  Great  Master  in  his  vineyard  stands ; 
But  I,  as  if  my  task  were  all  unknown, 
Come  to  his  gates,  alas!  with  empty  hands, 

William  Stanley  Roscoe.— 1783-1843. 


XXIV 
WHAT  ART  THOU,  MIGHTY   ONE? 

What  art  thou.  Mighty  One,  and  where  thy  seat? 
Thou  broodest  on  the  calm  that  cheers  the  lands. 
And  thou  dost  bear  within  thine  awful  hands 
The  rolling  thunders  and  the  lightnings  fleet ; 
Stern  on  thy  dark-wrought  car  of  cloud  and  wind 
Thou  guid'st  the  northern  storm  at  night's  dead  noon, 
Or  on  the  red  wing  of  the  fierce  monsoon 
Disturb'st  the  sleeping  giant  of  the  Ind. 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  19 

In  the  drear  silence  of  the  polar  span 
Dost  thou  repose?  or  in  the  solitude 
Of  sultry  tracts,  where  the  lone  caravan 
Hears  nightly  howl  the  tiger's  hungry  brood  ? 
Vain  thought,  the  confines  of  his  throne  to  trace 
Who  glows  through  all  the  fields  of  boundless  space! 
Henry  Kirke  White.— 1785-1806. 


XXV 

MISSPENT   TIME. 


There  is  no  remedy  for  time  misspent, 
No  healing  for  the  waste  of  idleness, 
Whose  very  languor  is  a  punishment 
Heavier  than  active  souls  can  feel  or  guess. 
O  hours  of  indolence  and  discontent. 
Not  now  to  be  redeemed!  ye  sting  not  less 
Because  I  know  this  span  of  life  was  lent 
For  lofty  duties,  not  for  selfishness. 
Not  to  be  whiled  away  in  aimless  dreams, 
But  to  improve  ourselves,  and  serve  mankind, 
Life  and  its  choicest  faculties  were  given. 
Man  should  be  ever  better  than  he  seems ; 
And  shape  his  acts,  and  discipline  his  mind, 
To  walk  adorning  earth,  with  hope  of  heaven. 
Sir  Aubrey  De  Vere.— 1788-1846. 


20  RELIGIOUS    SONNETS. 

XXVI 

THE   PASSION-FLOWER. 

Art  thou  a  type  of  beautj'^,  or  of  power, 

Of  sweet  enjoyment,  or  disastrous  sin? 

For  each  thy  name  denoteth,  Passion-flower! 

O  no!  thy  pure  corolla's  depth  within 

We  trace  a  holier  symbol;  yea,  a  sign 

'Twixt  God  and  man ;  a  record  of  that  hour 

When  the  expiatory  act  divine 

Cancelled  that  curse  which  was  our  mortal  dower. 

It  is  the  Cross !     Never  hath  Psalmist's  tongue 

Fitlicr  of  hope  to  human  frailty  sung 

Than  this  mute  teacher  in  a  floret's  breast — 

A  star  of  guidance  the  wild  woods  among, 

A  page  with  more  than  lettered  lore  imprest, 

A  beacon  to  the  havens  of  the  blest. 

Sir  Aubrey  De  Vere.— 1788-1846. 


XXVII 
TO   LIBERTY. 


Eternal  Spirit  of  the  chainless  Mind ! 
Brightest  in  dungeons,  Liberty,  thou  art — 
For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart — 
The  heart  which  love  of  thee  alone  can  bind ; 
And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consigned. 
To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom, 
Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom. 
And  freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind. 


KELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  21 

Chillon !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 
And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar,  for  'twas  trod, 
Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace 
Worn  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod. 
By  Bonnivard !     May  none  those  marks  efface! 
For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

Lord  Byron.— 1788-1824. 


XXVIII 
THE  SEA  IN  CALM. 


Look  what  immortal  floods  the  sunset  pours 

Upon  us!— Mark  how  still  (as  tliougli  in  dreams 

Bound)  the  once  wild  and  terrible  Ocean  seems! 

How  silent  are  the  winds!     No  billow  roars; 

But  all  is  tranquil  as  Elysian  shores. 

The  silver  margin  winch  aye  runneth  round 

The  moon-enchanted  sea  liath  here  no  sound: 

Even  Echo  speaks  not  on  tliese  radiant  moors. 

What!  is  the  giant  of  the  ocean  dead, 

Whose  strength  was  all  unmatched  beneath  the  sun' 

Ko :  he  reposes.     Now  his  toils  are  done, 

More  quiet  than  the  babbling  brooks  is  he. 

So  mightiest  powers  by  deepest  calms  are  fed, 

And  sleep,  how  oft,  in  things  that  gentlest  be ! 

Bryan  Waller  Procter.— 1790-1874. 


22  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XXIX 

THE   SETTING  SUN. 

When  I  behold  you  arch  magnificent 
Spanning  the  gorgeous  West,  the  autumnal  bed 
Where  the  great  Sun  now  hides  his  weary  head, 
With  here  and  there  a  purple  isle,  that  rent 
From  that  huge  cloud,  their  solid  continent, 
Seem  floating  in  a  sea  of  golden  light, 
A  fire  is  kindled  in  my  musing  sprite. 
And  Fancy  whispers:   Such  the  glories  lent 
To  this  our  mortal  life ;  most  glowing  fair, 
But  built  on  clouds,  and  melting  while  we  gaze. 
Yet  since  those  shadowy  lights  sure  witness  bear 
Of  One  not  seen,  the  undying  Sun  and  Source 
Of  good  and  fair,  who  wisely  them  surveys 
Will  use  them  well  to  cheer  his  heavenward  course. 

John  Keble.— 1792-1866. 


XXX 

THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 

'  CONSIDER    THE    LILIES    OF   THE    FIELD.' 

Flowers  !  when  the  Saviour's  calm,  benignant  eye 
Fell  on  your  gentle  beauty ;  when  from  you 
That  heavenly  lesson  for  all  hearts  He  drew, 
Eternal,  universal,  as  the  sky, — 
Then  in  the  bosom  of  your  purity 
A  voice  he  set  as  in  a  temple-shrine, 
That  life's  quick  travellers  ne'er  might  pass  you  by 
Unwarned  of  that  sweet  oracle  divine. 


KELIGIOUS    SONNETS.  3 

And  though  too  oft  its  low,  celestial  sound 
By  the  harsh  notes  of  work-day  care  is  drowned, 
And  the  loud  steps  of  vain,  unlistening  haste, 
Yet  the  great  ocean  hath  no  tone  of  power 
Mightier  to  reach  the  soul  in  thouglit's  hushed  hour, 
Than  yours,  ye  Lilies!  chosen  thus  and  graced. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans.— 1791-1835. 


XXXI 
ON  A  REMEMBERED  PICTURE  OF  CHRIST  : 

AN   ECCE  homo  BY  LEONARDO   DA   VINCI. 

I  MET  that  image  on  a  mirthful  day 
Of  youth ;  and,  sinking  with  a  stilled  surprise, 
The  pride  of  life,'  before  those  holy  eyes. 
In  my  quick  heart  died  tlioughtfuUy  away, 
Abashed  to  mute  confession  of  a  sway 
Awful  though  meek ;  and  now  that  from  the  strings 
Of  my  souPs  lyre  the  tempest's  mighty  wings 
Have  struck  forth  tones  which  then  unwakened  lay; 
Now  that  around  the  deep  life  of  my  mind 
Affections  deathless  as  itself  have  twined. 
Oft  does  the  pale  bright  vision  still  float  by; 
But  more  divinely  sweet,  and  speaking  now 
Of  One  whose  pity,  throned  on  that  sad  brow, 
Sounded  all  depths  of  love,  grief,  death,  humanity. 
Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans.— 179i-1835. 


b  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XXXII 

FLIGHT  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

Whither,  oh!  whither  wilt  thou  wing  thy  way? 
What  solemn  region  first  upon  thy  sight 
Shall  break,  unveiled  for  terror  or  delight? 
What  hosts,  magnificent  in  dread  ai'ray, 
My  spirit !  when  thy  prison-house  of  clay 
After  long  strife  is  rent?     Fond,  fruitless  quest! 
The  unfledged  bird,  within  his  narrow  nest, 
Sees  but  a  few  green  branches  o'er  him  play, 
And  through  their  parting  leaves,  by  fits  revealed, 
A  glimpse  of  summer  sky ;  nor  knows  the  field 
Wherein  his  dormant  powers  must  yet  be  tried. 
Thou  art  that  bird ! — of  what  beyond  thee  lies 
Far  in  the  untracked,  immeasurable  skies 
Knowing  but  this — that  thou  shalt  find  thy  Guide ! 
Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. — 1794-1835. 


XXXIII 
SABBATH   SONNET. 


How  many  blessed  groups  this  hour  are  bending. 
Through  England's  primrose  meadow-paths,  their  way 
Towards  spire  and  tower,  'midst  shadowy  elms  ascending. 
Whence  the  sweet  chimes  proclaim  the  hallowed  day ! 
The  halls  from  old  heroic  ages  gray 
Pour  their  fair  children  forth  ;  and  hamlets  low, 
With  whose  thick  orchard-blooms  the  soft  winds  play, 
Send  out  their  inmates  in  a  happy  flow. 


RELIGIOUS    SONNETS.  35 

Like  a  freed  vernal  stream.     I  may  not  tread 
With  them  those  pathways,  to  the  feverish  bed 
Of  sickness  bound ;  yet,  O  my  God !  I  bless 
Thy  mercy,  that  with  Sabbath  peace  hath  filled 
My  chastened  heart,  and  all  its  throbbings  stilled 
To  one  deep  calm  of  lowliest  thankfulness. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans.— 1794-1835. 


XXXIV 

SOLITUDE. 


O  Solitude  !  if  I  must  with  thee  dwell, 

Let  it  not  be  among  the  jumbled  heap 

Of  murky  buildings:  climb  with  me  the  steep, — 

Nature's  observatory — whence  the  dell. 

Its  flowery  slopes,  its  river's  crystal  swell, 

May  seem  a  span ;  let  me  thy  vigils  keep 

'Mongst  boughs  pavilioned,  where  the  deer's  swift  leap 

Startles  the  wild  bee  from  the  foxglove  bell. 

But  though  I'll  gladly  trace  these  scenes  with  thee. 

Yet  the  sweet  converse  of  an  innocent  mind. 

Whose  words  are  images  of  thoughts  refined. 

Is  my  soul's  pleasure ;  and  it  sure  must  be 

Almost  the  highest  bliss  of  human-kind, 

When  to  thy  haunts  two  kindred  spirits  flee. 

John  Keats.— 1795-1821. 
2 


26  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XXXV 

THE   HUMAN   SEASONS. 

Four  seasons  fill  tlie  measure  of  the  year; 

There  are  four  seasons  in  the  mind  of  man : 

He  has  his  lusty  Spring,  when  fancy  clear 

Takes  in  all  beauty  in  an  easy  span ; 

He  has  his  Summer,  when  luxuriously 

Spring's  honeyed  cud  of  youthful  thought  he  loves 

To  ruminate,  and  by  such  dreaming  high 

Is  nearest  unto  heaven ;  quiet  coves 

His  soul  has  in  its  Autumn,  when  his  wings 

He  f urleth  close ;  contented  so  to  look 

On  mists  in  idleness — to  let  fair  things 

Pass  by  unheeded  as  a  threshold  brook. 

He  has  his  Winter,  too,  of  pale  misfeature, 

Or  else  he  would  forego  his  mortal  nature. 

John  Keats.— 1795-1821. 


XXXVI 

TO   SLEEP. 


O  SOFT  embalmer  of  the  still  midnight! 

Shutting,  with  careful  fingers  and  benign, 

Our  gloom-pleased  eyes,  embowered  from  the  light, 

Enshaded  in  f orgetf ulness  divine : 

O  soothest  Sleep !  if  so  it  please  thee,  close, 

In  midst  of  this  thine  hymn,  my  willing  eyes, 

Or  wait  the  amen,  ere  thy  poppy  throws 

Around  my  bed  its  lulling  charities ; 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  37 

Tlien  save  me,  or  the  passed  day  will  shine 

Upon  my  pillow,  breeding  many  woes ; 

Save  me  from  curious  conscience,  that  still  lords 

Its  strength,  for  darkness  burrowing  like  a  mole ; 

Turn  the  key  deftly  in  the  oil^d  wards, 

And  seal  the  hushed  casket  of  my  soul. 

JoHx  Keats.— 1795-1S21. 


XXXVII 

THE   MEMORY   OF    THE   POETS. 

The  fame  of  those  pure  bards  whose  fancies  lie 
Like  glorious  clouds  in  summer's  calmest  even, 
Fringing  the  western  skirts  of  darkening  heaven, 
And  sprinkled  o'er  with  hues  of  rainbow  dye, 
Awakes  no  voice  of  tluinder,  wliich  may  vie 
With  miglity  cliicfs'  renown ; — from  ages  gone, 
In  low  undying  strain  it  lengthens  on, 
Earth's  greenest  solitudes  with  joy  to  fill, — 
Felt  breathing  in  the  silence  of  the  sky, 
Or  trembling  in  the  gush  of  new-born  rill, 
Or  whispering  o'er  the  lake's  undimpled  breast ; 
Yet  blest  to  live  when  trumpet  notes  are  still. 
To  wake  a  pulse  of  earth-born  ecstasy 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  eternal  rest. 

Thomas  Noon  Talfourd.— 1795-1854. 


28  KELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XXXVIII 

NIGHT. 

The  crackling  embers  on  the  hearth  are  dead ; 

The  indoor  note  of  industry  is  still; 

The  latch  is  fast ;  upon  the  window-sill 

The  small  birds  wait  not  for  their  daily  bread ; 

The  voiceless  Howers — how  quietly  they  shed 

Their  nightly  odours ; — and  the  household  rill 

Murmurs  continuous  dulcet  sounds  that  fill 

The  vacant  expectation,  and  the  dread 

Of  listening  niglit.     And  haply  now  She  sleeps; 

For  all  the  garrulous  noises  of  tlie  air 

Are  hushed  in  peace ;  the  soft  dew  silent  w^eeps, 

Like  hopeless  lovers  for  a  maid  so  fair: — 

Oh !  that  I  w^ere  the  happy  dream  that  creeps 

To  her  soft  heart,  to  find  my  image  there. 

Hartley  Coleridge.— 1796-1849. 


XXXIX 
TO   SHAKSPEARE. 


The  soul  of  man  is  larger  than  the  sky, 
Deeper  than  ocean,  or  the  abysmal  dark 
Of  the  unfathomed  centre.     Like  that  Ark, 
Which  in  its  sacred  hold  uplifted  high, 
O'er  the  drowned  hills,  the  human  family, 
And  stock  reserved  of  every  living  kind ; 
So,  in  the  compass  of  the  single  mind, 
Tlie  seeds  and  pregnant  foi'ms  in  essence  lie 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  29 

That  make  all  worlds.     Great  poet,  'twas  thy  art 

To  know  thyself,  and  in  thyself  to  be 

Whatever  love,  hate,  ambition,  destiny, 

Or  the  firm,  fatal  purpose  of  the  heart. 

Can  make  of  Man.     Yet  thou  wert  still  the  same, 

Serene  of  thought,  unhurt  by  thy  own  flame. 

Hartley  Coleridge.— 1796-1849. 


XL 
PRAYER. 


Theue  is  an  awful  quiet  in  the  air, 

And  the  sad  earth,  with  moist  imploring  eye, 

Looks  wide  and  wakeful  at  the  pondering  sky, 

Like  Patience  slow  subsiding  to  Despair. 

But  see,  the  blue  smoke  as  a  voiceless  prayer, 

Sole  witness  of  a  secret  sacrifice, 

Unfolds  its  tardy  wreaths,  and  multiplies 

Its  soft  chameleon  breathings  in  the  rare 

Capacious  ether, — so  it  fades  away, 

And  nought  is  seen  beneath  the  jDendent  blue, 

The  undistinguishable  waste  of  day. 

So  have  I  dreamed ! — oh,  may  the  dream  be  true  !- 

That  praying  souls  are  purged  from  mortal  hue. 

And  grow  as  pure  as  He  to  whom  they  pray. 

Hartley  Coleridge.— 1796-1849. 


30  RELIGIOUS    SONNETS. 

XLI 

PRAYER. 

Be  not  afraid  to  pray — to  pray  is  right. 
Pray,  if  thou  canst,  with  hope;  but  ever  pray, 
Though  hope  be  weak,  or  sick  with  long  delay ; 
Pray  in  the  darkness,  if  there  be  no  light. 
Far  is  the  time,  remote  Iiom  luiman  sight, 
When  war  and  discord  on  the  earth  shall  cease; 
Yet  every  prayer  for  universal  peace 
Avails  the  blessed  tune  to  expedite. 
Whatever  is  good  to  wish,  ask  that  of  Heaven, 
Though  it  be  what  thou  canst  not  hope  to  see: 
•     Pray  to  be  perfect,  though  material  leaven 
Forbid  the  spirit  so  on  earth  to  be; 
But  if  for  any  wish  thou  darest  not  pray, 
Then  pray  to  God  to  cast  that  wish  away. 

Hartley  Coleridge.— 1796-1849. 


XLTI 
ON   DEATH. 


It  is  not  death,  that  sometime  in  a  sigh 

This  eloquent  breath  shall  take  its  speechless  flight; 

That  sometime  these  bright  stars,  that  now  reply 

In  sunlight  to  the  sun,  shall  set  in  night ; 

That  this  warm  conscious  flesh  shall  perish  quite, 

And  all  life's  ruddy  springs  forget  to  flow; 

That  thoughts  shall  cease,  and  the  immortal  sprite 

Be  lapped  in  alien  clay  and  laid  below; 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  3l 

It  is  not  death  to  know  this,  — but  to  know 

That  pious  thouglits,  which  visit  at  new  graves 

In  tender  pilgrimage,  will  cease  to  go 

So  duly  and  so  oft, — and  when  grass  waves 

Over  the  past-away,  there  may  be  then 

No  resurrection  in  the  minds  of  men. 

Thomas  Hood.— 1798-1845. 


XLIII 
A   PRAYER. 


O  BROODING  Spirit  of  Wisdom  and  of  Love, 

Whose  mighty  wings  even  now  o'ershadow  me, 

Absorb  me  in  thine  own  immensity, 

And  raise  me  far  my  finite  self  above! 

Purge  vanity  aAvay,  and  the  weak  care 

That  name  or  fame  of  me  may  widely  spread; 

And  the  deep  wish  keep  burning  in  their  stead,   . 

Thy  blissful  influence  afar  to  bear, — 

Or  see  it  borne !     Let  no  desire  of  ease, 

No  lack  of  courage,  faith,  or  love,  delay 

Mine  own  steps  on  that  high  thought-paven  way 

In  which  my  soul  her  clear  commission  sees: 

Yet  with  an  equal  joy  let  me  behold 

Thy  chariot  o'er  that  way  by  others  rolled! 

Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton.— 1805-1865. 


32  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XLIV 
0   GOD,  IMPART   THY   BLESSING. 

0  God,  impart  Thy  blessing  to  my  cries! 

1  trust  but  faintly,  and  I  daily  err; 
The  waters  of  my  heart  are  oft  astir, 
An  angcFs  there!  and  yet  I  cannot  rise! 

Ah !  would  my  Lord  were  here  amongst  us  still, 

Proffering  his  bosom  to  his  servant's  brow ; 

Too  oft  that  holy  life  comes  o'er  us  now 

Like  twihght  echoes  from  a  distant  liill; 

We  long  for  his  pure  looks  and  words  sublime; 

His  lowly-lofty  innocence  and  grace ; 

The  talk  sweet-toned,  and  blessing  all  the  time; 

The  mountain  sermon  and  the  ruthf ul  gaze ; 

The  cheerly  credence  gathered  from  his  face; 

His  voice  in  village  groups  at  eve  or  prime ! 

Charles  (Tennyson)  Turner.— 1808-18T9. 


XLV 
THE   HOLY    EMERALD, 

SAID   TO   BE  THE   ONLY  TRUE   LIKENESS   OF   CHRIST. 

The  gem,  to  which  the  artist  did  entrust 
That  face  whicli  now  outshines  the  Cherul)im, 
Gave  up,  full  willingly,  its  emerald  dust. 
To  take  Christ's  likeness — to  make  room  for  him. 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  33 

So  must  it  be,  if  thou  wouldst  bear  about 

Thy  Lord — thy  shining  surface  must  be  lowered, 

Thy  goodly  prominence  be  chipt  and  scored, 

Till  those  deep  scars  have  brought  his  features  out: 

Sharp  be  the  stroke  and  true,  make  no  complaints; 

For  heavenly  lines  thou  givest  earthy  grit: 

But  oil!  how  oft  our  coward  spirit  faints, 

AVhen  we  are  called  our  jewels  to  submit 

To  this  keen  graver,  which  so  oft  hath  writ 

The  Saviour's  image  on  his  wounded  saints! 

Charles  (Tennysox)  Turner.— 1808-1879. 


XLVI 

THE  SOUL'S   EXPRESSION. 

With  stammering  lips  and  insufficient  sound, 

I  strive  and  struggle  to  deliver  right 

That  music  of  my  nature,  day  and  night  n 

AVith  dream  and  thought  and  feeling  interwound, 

And  inly  answering  all  the  senses  round 

With  octaves  of  a  mystic  depth  and  height, 

AVhich  step  out  grandly  to  the  infinite 

From  the  dark  edges  of  the  sensual  ground. 

This  song  of  soul  I  struggle  to  outbear 

Through  portals  of  the  sense,  sublime  and  whole, 

And  utter  all  myself  into  the  air: 

But  if  I  did  it, — as  the  thunder-roll 

Breaks  its  own  cloud,  my  flesh  would  perish  there, 

Before  that  dread  apocalypse  of  soul. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. — 1809-1861. 

2* 


34  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

XLVII 

BEREAVEMENT. 

When  some  Beloveds,  'neath  whose  eyelids  lay 
The  sweet  liglits  of  my  childhood,  one  by  one 
Did  leave  me  dark  before  the  natural  sun, 
And  I  astonied  fell,  and  could  not  pray, — 
A  thought  within  me  to  myself  did  say, 
'Is  God  less  God,  that  tlwu  art  left  undone? 
Rise,  worsliip,  bless  him,  in  this  sackcloth  spun, 
As  in  that  ])urple ! ' — But  I  answered.  Nay ! 
What  child  his  filial  heart  in  words  can  loose 
If  he  behold  his  tender  father  raise 
The  hand  that  chastens  sorely  ?  can  he  choose 
But  sob  in  silence  with  an  upward  gaze? — 
And  my  great  Father,  thinking  fit  to  bruise, 
Discerns  in  spfeechless  tears  both  prayer  and  praise. 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. — 1809-1861. 


XLVIII 

CONSOLATION. 

All  are  not  taken ;  there  are  left  behind 

Living  Beloveds,  tender  looks  to  bring 

And  make  the  daylight  still  a  happy  thing, 

And  tender  voices,  to  make  soft  the  wind : 

But  if  it  were  not  so— if  I  could  find 

No  love  in  all  the  world  for  comforting. 

Nor  any  path  but  hollowly  did  ring, 

Where  '  dust  to  dust '  the  love  from  life  disjoined, 


RELIGIOUS    SONNETS.  35 

And  if,  before  those  sepulchres  unmoving, 

I  stood  alone,  (as  some  forsaken  lamb 

Goes  bleating  up  the  moors  in  weary  dearth) 

Crying,  '  Where  are  ye,  O  my  loved  and  loving?  ' — 

I  know  a  Voice  would  sound,   '  Daughter,  I  Am. 

Can  I  suiRce  for  Heaven  and  not  for  earth? ' 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.— 1809-1861. 


XLIX 
TEARS. 


Thank  God,  bless  God,  all  ye  who  suffer  not 

More  grief  than  ye  can  weep  for.     That  is  well — 

That  is  light  grieving!  lighter  none  befell 

Since  Adam  forfeited  the  primal  lot. 

Tears!  what  are  tears?     The  babe  weeps  in  its  cot, 

The  mother  singing;  at  her  marriage-bell 

The  bride  weeps,  and  before  the  oracle 

Of  high-faned  hills  the  poet  has  forgot 

Such  moisture  on  his  cheeks.     Thank  God  for  grace, 

Ye  who  weep  only !     If,  as  some  have  done, 

Ye  grope  tear-blinded  in  a  desert  place 

And  touch  but  tombs, — look  up!  those  tears  will  run 

Soon  in  long  rivers  down  the  lifted  face. 

And  leave  the  vision  clear  for  stars  and  sun. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.— 1809-1861. 


RELIGIOUS  SONNETS. 


COMFORT. 


Speak  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet 
From  out  the  hallelujahs,  sweet  and  low, 
Lest  I  should  fear  and  fall,  and  miss  Thee  so 
Who  art  not  missed  by  any  that  entreat. 
Speak  to  me  as  to  Mary  at  Thy  feet ! 
And  if  no  precious  gums  my  hands  bestow, 
Let  my  tears  drop  like  amber  while  I  go 
In  reach  of  Thy  divinest  voice  complete 
In  humanest  affection — thus,  in  sooth, 
To  lose  the  sense  of  losing.     As  a  child. 
Whose  song-bird  seeks  the  wood  for  evermore, 
Is  sung  to  in  its  stead  by  mother's  mouth 
Till,  sinking  on  her  breast,  love-reconciled. 
He  sleeps  the  faster  tliat  he  wept  before. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.— 1809-1861. 


LI 
WORK. 


What  are  we  set  on  earth  for?     Say,  to  toil ; 
Nor  seek  to  leave  thy  tending  of  the  vines 
For  all  the  heat  o'  the  day,  till  it  declines, 
And  death's  mild  curfew  shall  from  work  assoil. 
God  did  anoint  thee  with  his  odorous  oil 
To  wrestle,  not  to  reign ;  and  he  assigns 
All  thy  tears  over,  like  pure  crystallines, 
For  younger  fellow-workers  of  the  soil 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  37 

To  wear  for  amulets.     So  otliers  sliall 
Take  patience,  labour,  to  their  heart  and  hand, 
From  thy  hand  and  thj'  heart  and  thy  brave  cheer, 
And  God's  grace  fructify  through  thee  to  all. 
The  least  flower,  with  a  brimming  cup  may  stand. 
And  share  its  dew-drop  with  another  near. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.— 1809-1861. 


LII 

"COME   UNTO   THE   FEAST." 

Rise,  said  the  Master,  come  unto  the  feast : — 

She  heard  the  call  and  rose  with  willing  feet; 

But  thinking  it  ifot  otherwise  than  meet 

For  such  a  ])idding  to  put  on  her  best, 

She  is  gone  from  us  for  a  few  short  hours 

Into  her  bridal  closet,  there  to  wait 

For  the  unfolding  of  the  palace  gate. 

That  gives  her  entrance  to  the  blissful  bowers. 

We  have  not  seen  her  yet,  though  we  have  been 

Full  often  to  her  chamber  door,  and  oft 

Have  listened  underneath  the  postern  green. 

And  laid  fresh  flowers,  and  whispered  short  and  soft; 

But  she  hath  made  no  answer;  and  the  day 

From  the  clear  west  is  fading  fast  away. 

Henry  Alford.— 1810-1871. 


38  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

LIII 

TO  A  FRIEND. 

Sad  soul,  whom  God,  resuming  what  He  gave, 

Medicines  wdth  bitter  anguisli  of  the  tomb, 

Cease  to  oppress  the  portals  of  the  grave. 

And  strain  thy  aching  sight  across  tlie  gloom. 

The  surged  Atlantic's  winter-beaten  wave 

Shall  sooner  pierce  the  purpose  of  the  wind 

Than  thy  storm-tossed  and  heavy-swelling  mind 

Grasp  the  full  import  of  his  means  to  save. 

Through  the  dark  night  lie  still;  God's  faithful  grace 

Lies  hid,  like  morning,  underneatli  the  sea. 

Let  thy  slow  hours  roll,  like  these  weary  stars, 

Down  to  the  level  ocean  patiently ; 

Till  his  loved  hand  shall  touch  the  eastern  bars, 

And  his  full  glory  shine  upon  tlTy  face. 

William  Caldwell  Roscoe.— 1823-1859. 


LIV 

TO  A  FRIEND  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

No  comfort,  na3%  no  comfort.     Yet  would  I 

In  Sorrow's  cause  with  Sorrow  intercede. 

Burst  not  the  great  heart, — this  is  all  I  plead; 

Ah !  sentence  it  to  suffer,  not  to  die. 

*  Comfort? '     If  Jesus  wept  at  Bethany — 

That  doze  and  nap  of  Death — how  may  we  bleed 

Who  watch  the  long  sleep  that  is  sleep  indeed ! 


RELIGIOUS    SONNETS.  39 

Pointing  to  Heaven  I  but  remind  you  why 

On  earth  you  still  must  mourn.     He  who,  being  bold 

For  life-tO-come,  is  false  to  the  past  sweet 

Of  mortal  life,  hath  killed  the  world  above. 

For  why  to  live  again  if  not  to  meet? 

And  why  to  meet  if  not  to  meet  in  love? 

And  why  in  love  if  not  in  that  dear  love  of  old? 

Sydney  Dobell.— 1824-1874. 


LV 

IN  THE  SHADOWS. 

1 

If  it  must  be ;  if  it  must  be,  O  God ! 

That  I  die  young,  and  make  no  further  moans; 

That  underneath  the  unrespective  sod, 

In  unescutcheoned  privacy,  my  bones 

Shall  crumble  soon, — then  give  me  strength  to  bear 

The  last  convulsive  throe  of  too  sweet  breath! 

I  tremble  from  the  edge  of  life,  to  dare 

The  dark  and  fatal  leap,  having  no  faith, 

No  glorious  yearning  for  the  Apocalypse. 

But  like  a  child  that  in  the  night-time  cries 

For  light,  I  cry ;  forgetting  the  eclipse 

Of  knowledge  and  our  human  destinies. 

O  peevish  and  uncertain  soul !  obey 

The  law  of  life  in  j)atience  till  the  Day. 

David  Gkay.— 1838-1861. 


40  RELIGIOUS   SONNETS. 

LVI 

IN  THE  SHADOWS. 

2 

Now,  while  the  long-delaying  ash  assumes 

The  delicate  April  green,  and,  loud  and  clear, 

Through  the  cool,  yellow,  mellow  twilight  glooms, 

The  thrush's  song  enchants  the  captive  ear; 

Now,  while  a  shower  is  pleasant  in  the  falling, 

Stirring  the  still  perfume  that  wakes  around  7 

Now  that  doves  mourn,  and  from  the  distance  calling, 

The  cuckoo  answers  with  a  sovereign  sound, — 

Come,  with  thy  native  heart,  O  true  and  tried ! 

But  leave  all  books;  for  what  with  converse  high, 

Flavoured  with  Attic  wit,  the  time  shall  glide 

On  smoothly,  as  a  river  floweth  by. 

Or  as  on  stately  pinion,  through  the  gray 

Evening,  the  culver  cuts  his  liquid  way. 

David  Gray.— 1838-1861. 


LVII 
IN   THE   SHADOWS. 

3 

October's  gold  is  dim — the  forests  rot. 
The  weary  rain  falls  ceaseless,  while  the  day 
Is  wrapped  in  damp.     In  mire  of  village  way 
The  hedge-row  leaves  are  stamped  ;  and,  all  forgot, 
The  broodless  nest  sits  visible  in  tlie  thorn. 
Autumn,  among  her  drooping  marigolds. 
Weeps  all  her  garnered  sheaves,  and  empty  folds, 
And  dripping  orchards — plundered  and  forlorn. 


RELIGIOUS   SONNETS.  41 

The  season  is  a  dead  one,  and  I  die ! 

No  more,  no  more  for  me  the  Spring  shall  make 

A  resurrection  in  the  earth,  and  take 

The  death  from  out  her  lieart— O  God,  I  die ! 

The  cold  throat-mist  creeps  nearer,  till  I  breathe 

Corruption.     Drop,  stark  night,  upon  my  death ! 

David  Gray.— 1838-1861. 


LVIII 
IN   THE    SHADOWS. 


4 

Die  down,  O  dismal  day!  and  let  me  live; 
And  come,  blue  deeps!  magnificently  strown 
With  coloured  clouds — large,  light,  and  fugitive — 
By  upper  winds  through  pompous  motions  blown. 
Now  it  is  death  in  life — a  vapour  dense 
Creeps  round  my  window  till  I  cannot  see 
The  far  snow-shining  mountains,  and  the  glens 
Shagging  the  mountain-tops.     O  God  !  make  free 
This  barren,  shackled  earth,  so  deadly  cold — 
Breathe  gently  forth  Thy  Spring,  till  Winter  flies 
In  rude  amazement,  fearful  and  yet  bold, 
While  she  performs  her  'customed  charities. 
I  weigh  the  loaded  hours  till  life  is  bare — 
O  God!  for  one  clear  day,  a  snowdrop,  and  sweet  air! 

David  Gkay.— 1838-1861. 


fait^    anl)    lieltgioir. 


Saxil)    aub    Hcligtoti. 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD. 

All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for  aye. 
The  forms  of  men  shall  be  as  they  had  never  been ; 
The  blasted  groves  shall  lose  their  fresh  and  tender  green ; 
The  birds  of  the  thicket  shall  end  their  pleasant  song, 
And  the  nightingale  shall  cease  to  chant  the  evening 

long. 
The  kine  of  the  pasture  shall  feel  the  dart  that  kills. 
And  all  the  fair  white  flocks  shall  perish  from  the  hills. 
The  goat  and  antlered  stag,  the  wolf  and  the  fox, 
The  wild  boar  of  the  wood,   and  the  chamois  of   the 

rocks, 
And  the  strong  and  fearless  bear,  in  the  trodden  dust 

shall  lie ; 
And  the  dolphin  of  the  sea,  and  the  mighty  whale,  shall 

die. 

(45) 


46  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

And  realms  shall  be  dissolved,  and  empires  be  no  more, 
And  they  shall  bow  to  death,  who  ruled  from  shore  to 

shore ; 
And  the  great  globe  itself,  so  the  holy  writings  tell, 
With  the  rolling  firmament,  where  the  starry  armies  dwell, 
Shall  melt  with  fervent  heat — they  shall  all  pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for  aye. 

From  the  Provenfal  of  Bernard  Rascas, 

by  William  Cullen  Bryant.— 1794-1878. 


DELIGHT   IN   GOD. 


I  LOVE,  and  have  some  cause  to  love,  the  earth, — 

She  is  my  Maker's  creature,  therefore  good ; 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  me  birth ; 

She  is  my  tender  nurse,  she  gives  me  food ; 

But  what's  a  creature.  Lord,  compared  with  thee  ? 

Or  what's  my  mother  or  my  nurse  to  me  ? 

I  love  the  air, — her  dainty  sweets  refresh 

My  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  invite  me ; 

Her  shrill-mouthed  choir  sustain  me  with  their  flesh. 
And  with  their  polyphonian  notes  delight  me: 
But  what's  the  air,  or  all  tlie  sweets  that  she 
Can  bless  my  soul  withal,  compared  to  thee  ? 

I  love  the  sea, — she  is  my  fellow-creature. 
My  careful  purveyor;  she  provides  me  store; 

She  walls  me  round;  she  makes  my  diet  greater; 
She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  shore : 


FAITH   AND    RELIGION.  47 

But,  Lord  of  oceans,  when  compared  with  thee, 
What  is  the  ocean  or  her  wealth  to  me  ? 


To  heaven's  high  city  I  direct  my  journey, 
Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertain  mine  eye ; 

Mine  eye,  by  contemplation's  great  attorney, 
Transcends  the  crystal  pavement  of  the  sky: 
But  what  is  heaven,  great  God,  compared  to  thee  ? 
Without  thy  presence,  heaven's  no  heaven  to  me. 


Without  thy  presence,  earth  gives  no  refection; 
Without  thy  presence,  sea  affords  no  treasure; 

Without  thy  presence,  air's  a  rank  infection ; 

Without  thy  presence,  heaven's  itself  no  pleasure: 
If  not  possessed,  if  not  enjoyed  in  thee, 
What's  earth,  or  sea,  or  air, .  or  heaven  to  me  ? 

The  highest  honors  that  the  world  can  boast 
Are  subjects  far  too  low  for  my  desire; 

The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are,  at  most, 
But  dying  sparkles  of  thy  living  fire ; 
The  loudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle  be 
But  nightly  glow-worms,  if  compared  to  thee. 

Without  thy  presence,  wealth  is  bags  of  cares; 

Wisdom  but  folly ;  joy,  disquiet— sadness; 
Friendship  is  treason,  and  dehghts  are  snares ; 

Pleasures  but  pain,  and  mirth  but  pleasing  madness ; 

Without  thee.  Lord,  things  be  not  what  they  be, 

Nor  have  their  being,  when  compared  with  thee. 


48  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

In  having  all  things,  and  not  thee,  what  have  I  ? 

Not  having  thee,  what  have  my  labors  got  ? 
Let  me  enjoy  but  thee,  what  further  crave  I  ? 

And  having  thee  alone,  what  have  I  not  ? 

I  wish  nor  sea  nor  land ;  nor  would  I  be 

Possessed  of  heaven,  heaven  unpossessed  of  thee  ! 
Francis  Quarles. — 1593-1644. 


A  THANKSGIVING  TO    GOD  FOR   HIS   HOUSE. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  given  me  a  cell, 

Wherein  to  dwell; 
A  little  house,  whose  humble  roof 

Is  weatherproof ; 
Under  the  spars  of  which  I  lie 

Both  soft  and  dry. 
Where  Thou,  my  chamber  for  to  ward, 

Hast  set  a  guard 
Of  harmless  thoughts,  to  watch  and  keep 

Me  while  I  sleep. 
Low  is  my  porch,  as  is  my  fate, 

Both  void  of  state; 
And  yet  the  threshold  of  my  door 

Is  worn  by  the  poor, 
Who  hither  come,  and  freely  get 

Good  words  or  meat. 
Like  as  my  parlor,  so  my  hall, 

And  kitchen  small ; 
A  little  buttery,  and  therein 

A  little  bin, 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  49 

Which  keeps  my  little  loaf  of  bread 

Uncbipt,  unflead. 
Some  brittle  sticks  of  thorn  or  brier 

Make  me  a  fire, 
Close  by  whose  living  coal  I  sit, 

And  glow  like  it. 
Lord,  I  confess,  too,  when  I  dine, 

The  pulse  is  Thine, 
And  all  those  other  bits  that  be 

There  placed  by  Thee. 
The  worts,  the  purslain,  and  the  mess 

Of  water-cress. 
Which  of  Thy  kindness  Thou  hast  sent: 

And  my  content 
Makes  those,  and  my  beloved  beet. 

To  be  more  sweet, 
'Tis  Tliou  that  crown'st  my  glittering  hearth 

With  guiltless  mirth ; 
And  giv'st  me  wassail  bowls  to  drink. 

Spiced  to  the  brink. 
Lord,  'tis  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  sows  my  land : 
All  this,  and  better,  dost  Thou  send 

Me  for  this  end : 
That  I  should  render  for  my  part 

A  thankful  heart. 
Which,  fir'd  with  incense,  I  resign 

As  wholly  thine : 
But  the  acceptance — that  must  be, 

O  Lord,  by  Thee. 

Robert  Herbick.— 1591-1674, 


50  FAITH  AND   BELIGION. 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

It  Tvas  the  calm  and  silent  night  ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  queen  of  land  and  sea. 
No  sound  w-as  heard  of  clashing  wars — 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hush'd  domain: 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  IMars 

Held  undisturb'd  their  ancient  reign, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago. 

'Twas  in  the  calm  and  silent  night  ! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome, 
Impatient,  urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home ; 
Triumphal  arches,  gleaming,  swell 

His  breast  w^ith  thoughts  of  boundless  sway; 
What  reck'd  the  Roman  what  befell 

A  palti-y  province  far  away. 
In  the  solemn  midnight. 
Centuries  ago  ? 

Within  that  province  far  away 

Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor; 

A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay. 

Fallen  through  a  half-shut  stable-door 

Across  his  path.     He  pass'd— for  naught 
Told  what  was  going  on  within ; 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  51 

How  keen  the  stars,  his  only  thought — 
The  air  how  cahn,  and  cold,  and  thin, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago! 

O  strange  indifference  I  low  and  high 

Drowsed  over  common  joys  and  cares ; 
The  earth  was  still— but  knew  not  why 

The  world  was  listening,  unawares. 
How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  tlie  world  forever  ! 
To  that  still  moment,  none  would  heed, 

Man's  doom  was  link'd  no  more  to  sever 

In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago  ! 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night  ! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

The  darkness— charm'd  and  holy  now  ! 
The  night  that  erst  no  name  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given ; 
For  in  that  stable  lay,  new-born, 

The  peaceful  Prince  of  earth  and  heaven, 
In  the  solemn  midnight. 
Centuries  ago  ! 

Alfred  Domett.— 1811 . 


53  FAITH   AND   KELIGION. 


CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

Christians,  awake,  salute  the  happy  morn 
Whereon  the  Saviour  of  mankind  was  born ; 
Rise  to  adore  the  mystery  of  love 
Which  hosts  of  angels  chanted  from  above  ! 
With  them  the  joyful  tidings  first  begun 
Of  God  incarnate  and  tlie  Virgfin's  Son. 


Then  to  the  watchful  shepherds  it  was  told. 

Who  heard  the  angelic  herald's  voice:   "  Behold, 

I  bring  good  tidings  of  a  Saviour's  birth 

To  you  and  all  the  nations  upon  earth : 

This  day  hath  God  fulfiU'd  his  promised  word, 

This  day  is  born  a  Saviour,  Christ  the  Lord." 

He  spake :  and  straightway  the  celestial  choir 
In  hymns  of  joy,  unknown  before,  conspire : 
The  praises  of  redeeming  love  they  sang. 
And  heaven's  whole  arcli  with  alleluias  rang: 
God's  highest  glory  was  their  anthem  still. 
Peace  upon  earth,  and  unto  men  good-will. 

To  Bethlehem  straight  the  happy  shepherds  ran, 
To  see  the  wonder  God  liad  wrought  for  man: 
And  found,  with  Josepli  and  the  blessed  maid. 
Her  Son,  the  Saviour,  in  a  manger  laid; 
Amazed  the  wondrous  story  they  proclaim. 
The  earliest  heralds  of  the  Saviour's  name. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  53 

Let  us,  like  these  good  shepherds,  then  employ 

Our  grateful  voices  to  proclaim  the  joy ; 

Trace  we  the  Babe,  who  hath  retrieved  our  loss. 

From  His  poor  manger  to  His  bitter  cross ; 

Treading  His  steps,  assisted  by  His  grace, 

Till  man's  first  heavenly  state  again  takes  place. 

Then  may  we  hope,  the  angelic  tlirones  among. 
To  sing,  redeem'd,  a  glad  triumphal  song ; 
He  that  was  born  upon  this  joyful  day 
Around  us  all  His  glory  shall  display; 
Saved  by  His  love,  incessant  we  shall  sing 
Of  angels  and  of  angel-men  the  King. 

John  Byrom.— 1691-1763. 


CHEISTMAS   CAROL. 


God  rest  you,  merry  gentlemen, 

Let  nothing  you  dismay. 
For  Jesus  Christ  our  Saviour 

Was  born  upon  this  day. 
To  save  us  all  from  Satan's  power, 
When  Ave  were  gone  astray. 
Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy. 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day ! 

In  Bethlehem,  in  Jewry, 

This  blessed  babe  was  bom, 
And  laid  within  a  manger. 

Upon  this  blessed  morn ; 


54  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

The  which  his  mother  Mary 
Nothing  did  take  in  scorn. 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day  ! 

From  God,  our  Heavenly  Father, 

A  blessed  angel  came, 
And  unto  certain  shepherds 

Brought  tidings  of  the  same, 
How  that  in  Bethlehem  was  born 
The  Son  of  God  by  name. 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy. 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day ! 

Fear  not,  then  said  the  angel, 

Let  nothing  you  affright, 
This  day  is  born  a  Saviour, 

Of  virtue,  power,  and  might, 
So  frequently  to  vanquish  all 
The  friends  of  Satan  quite. 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy. 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day  ! 

The  shepherds  at  those  tidings 

Eejoic^d  mucli  in  mind. 
And  left  their  flocks  a-feeding 

In  tempest,  storm,  and  wind. 
And  went  to  Bethlehem  straightway 

This  blessed  babe  to  find. 


FAITH  AK-D   RELIGION.  55 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy, 

For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day  I 

But  when  to  Bethlehem  they  came, 

Whereat  this  infant  lay, 
They  found  him  in  a  manger 

Where  oxen  feed  on  hay; 
His  mother  Mary,  kneeling, 
Unto  the  Lord  did  j^ray. 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  boru  on  Christ- 
mas Day  ! 

Now  to  the  Lord  sing  praises. 

All  you  within  this  place, 
And  with  true  love  and  brotherhood 

Each  other  now  embrace ; 
This  holy  tide  of  Christmas 
All  others  doth  deface. 

Oh  tidings  of  comfort  and  joy, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas Day  ! 

Anonymous. 


THE  STAR   OF   BETHLEHEM. 

As  shadows  cast  by  cloud  and  sun 
Flit  o'er  the  summer  grass. 

So,  in  thy  sight.  Almighty  One, 
Earth's  generations  pass. 


56  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

And  while  the  years,  an  endless  host, 

Come  pressing  swiftly  on, 
The  briglitest  names  that  earth  can  boast 

Just  glisten  and  are  gone. 

Yet  doth  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  shed 

A  luster  pure  and  sweet. 
And  still  it  leads,  as  once  it  led, 

To  the  Messiah's  feet. 

O  Father,  may  that  holy  star 
Grow  every  year  more  bright, 

And  send  its  glorious  beams  afar 
To  fill  the  world  with  light. 

William  Cullen  Bryant.— 1794-1878. 


THE   RIGHT   MUST  WIN. 

O,  IT  is  hard  to  work  for  God, 

To  rise  and  take  his  part 
Upon  this  battle-field  of  earth, 

And  not  sometimes  lose  heart ! 

He  hides  himself  so  wondrously. 
As  though  there  were  no  God; 

He  is  least  seen  when  all  the  powers 
Of  ill  are  most  abroad. 

Or  he  deserts  us  at  the  hour 

The  fight  is  all  but  lost ; 
And  seems  to  leave  us  to  ourselves 

Just  when  we  need  him  most. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  57 

111  masters  good,  good  seems  to  change 

To  ill  with  greatest  ease ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  good  with  good 

Is  at  cross-purposes. 

Ah!  God  is  other  than  we  think; 

His  ways  are  far  above, 
Far  beyond  reason's  height,  and  reached 

Only  by  childlike  love. 

Workman  of  God !  O,  lose  not  heart, 

But  learn  what  God  is  like ; 
And  in  the  darkest  battle-field 

Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike. 

Thrice  blest  is  he  to  wiiom  is  given 

The  instinct  that  can  tell 
That  God  is  on  the  field  when  he 

Is  most  invisible. 

Blest,  too,  is  he  who  can  divine 

Where  real  right  doth  lie. 
And  dares  to  take  the  side  that  seems 

Wrong  to  man's  blindfold  eye. 

For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  God ; 

And  right  the  day  must  win; 
To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty, 

To  falter  would  be  sin ! 

Frederick  William  Faber.— 1815-1863. 


58  FAITH  AND  RELIGION. 


BOUND  UPON  TH'  ACCURSl^D  TREE. 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Faint  and  bleeding,  who  is  He  ? 
By  the  eyes  so  pale  and  dim, 
Streaming  blood,  and  writhing  limb, 
By  the  flesh,  with  scourges  torn, 
By  the  crown  of  twisted  thorn, 
By  the  side,  so  deeply  pierced, 
By  the  baffled  burning  thirst. 
By  the  drooping  death-dew^'d  brow, 
Son  of  Man !  'tis  Thou !    'tis  Thou  I 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Dread  and  awful,  wdio  is  He? 
By  the  sun  at  noonday  pale. 
Shivering  rocks,  and  rending  veil, 
By  earth,  that  trembles  at  His  doom, 
By  yonder  saints,  that  burst  their  tomb, 
By  Eden,  promised  ere  He  died 
.   To  the  felon  at  His  side, 
Lord,  our  suppliant  knees  we  bow ; 
Son  of  God!  'tis  Thou  1  'tis  Thou! 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Sad  and  dying,  who  is  He? 
By  the  last  and  bitter  cry, 
The  ghost  given  up  in  agony, 
By  the  lifeless  body  laid 
In  the  chamber  of  the  dead, 


FAITH   AKD   RELIGION.  59 

By  the  mourners,  come  to  weep 
Where  the  boues  of  Jesus  sleep ; 
Crucified !  we  know  Thee  now ; 
Son  of  Man!  'tis  Thou!  'tis  Thou! 


Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
Dread  and  awful,  who  is  He  ? 
By  the  prayer  for  them  that  slew, 
"Lord,  they  know  not  what  they  do  !  " 
By  the  spoil'd  and  empty  grave. 
By  the  souls  He  died  to  save, 
By  the  conquest  He  hath  won, 
By  the  saints  before  His  throne, 
By  the  rainbow  round  His  brow. 
Son  of  God!  'tis  Thou!  'tis  Thou! 

Henry  Hart  Milman.— 1791-1868. 


TO   KEEP  A   TRUE    LENT. 

Is  this  a  fast — to  keep 
The  larder  lean. 
And  clean 
From  fat  of  veals  and  sheep? 

Is  it  to  quit  the  dish 

Of  flesh,  yet  still 
To  fill 
The  platter  high  with  fish? 


60  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

Is  it  to  fast  an  hour — 

Or  ragged  to  go — 
Or  show 
A  downcast  look,  and  sour  ? 

No  !  'tis  a  fast  to  dole 

Thy  sheaf  of  wheat, 
And  meat, 
Unto  the  hungry  soul. 

It  is  to  fast  from  strife, 
From  old  debate 
And  hate — 
To  circumcise  thy  life. 

To  show  a  heart  grief- rent ; 
To  starve  thy  sin. 
Not  bin — 
And  that's  to  keep  thy  lent. 

Robert  Herrick.— 1591-1674. 


WHAT    IS   PRAYER? 

Prayer  is  tlie  soul's  sincere  desire. 
Uttered  or  unexpressed — 

The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 
That  trembles  in  the  breast. 

Prayer  is  the  burtlien  of  a  sigh, 

The  falling  of  a  tear — 
The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 

When  none  but  God  is  near. 


FAITH  AND   RELIGION.  61 

Prayer  is  the  simplest  form  of  speech 

That  infant  lips  can  try — 
Prayer  the  sublimest  strains  that  reach 

The  majesty  on  high. 

Prayer  is  the  contrite  sinner's  voice 

Returning  from  his  ways. 
While  angels  in  their  songs  rejoice, 

And  cry,  ' '  Beliold  he  prays  !  " 

Prayer  is  tlie  Christian's  vital  breath— 
The  Christian's  native  air — 

His  watchword  at  the  gates  of  death- 
He  enters  heaven  with  prayer. 

The  saints  in  prayer  appear  as  one 

In  word,  and  deed,  and  mind, 
While  with  the  Father  and  the  Son 

Sweet  fellowship  they  find. 

Nor  prayer  is  made  by  man  alone— 

The  Holy  Spirit  pleads— 
And  Jesus,  on  the  eternal  throne, 

For  sinners  intercedes. 

O  Thou  by  whom  we  come  to  God  — 

The  life,  the  trutl»,  the  way  ! 
The  path  of  prayer  Thyself  hast  trod ; 

Lord,  teach  us  how  to  pray  ! 

James  Montgomery.— 1771-1854 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 


TRUST. 

Oh,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood ; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void. 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire. 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold  !  we  know  not  any  thing; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last — far  off — at  last,  to  all — 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream;  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night — 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light — 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

Alfred  Tennyson.— 1809 . 


FAITH   A^D   RELIGION.  63 


UP    HILL. 


Does  the  road  wind  up  hill  all  the  way  ? 

Yes,  to  the  'cery  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day  ? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  ? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin  ? 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  ? 

Toil  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night  ? 

lliose  icho  have  gone  lefore. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight  ? 

They  iciU  not  Tceep  you  standing  at  that  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak  ? 

Of  lahor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek  ? 

Yea,  lyedsfor  all  who  come. 

Christina  G.  Eossetti.— 1830 


EYENma  soNa. 


How  many  days  with  mute  adieu 
Have  gone  down  yon  untrodden  sky; 
And  still  it  looks  as  clear  and  blue 
As  when  it  first  was  hung  on  high. 
32* 


64  FAITH  AND   RELIGION. 

The  rolling  sun,  the  frowning  cloud 
That  drew  the  lightning  in  its  rear, 
The  thunder  tramping  deep  and  loud, 
Have  left  no  foot-mark  there. 

The  village-bells,  with  silver  chime, 
Come  softened  by  the  distant  shore ; 
Though  I  have  heard  them  many  a  time, 
They  never  rung  so  sweet  before. 
A  silence  rests  upon  the  hill, 
A  listening  awe  pervades  the  air; 
The  very  flowers  are  shut  and  still. 
And  bowed  as  if  in  prayer. 

And  in  this  hushed  and  breathless  close. 
O'er  earth  and  air  and  sky  and  sea, 
A  still  low  voice  in  silence  goes, 
Which  speaks  alone,  great  God,  of  Thee. 
The  whispering  leaves,  the  far-off  brook, 
The  linnet's  warble  fainter  grown. 
The  hive-bound  bee,  the  building  rook, — 
All  these  their  Maker  own. 

Now  Nature  sinks  in  soft  repose, 
A  living  semblance  of  the  grave; 
The  dew  steals  noiseless  on  the  rose. 
The  boughs  have  almost  ceased  to  wave ; 
The  silent  sky,  the  sleeping  earth, 
Tree,  mountain,  stream,  the  humble  sod. 
All  tell  from  whom  they  had  their  birth. 
And  cry,  "Behold  a  God  !" 

Thomas  Miller. — 1809- 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  65 


THE  SPIRIT-LAND. 


Father  !  thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand, 

Nor  far  removed  where  feet  liave  seldom  strayed; 

Around  us  ever  lies  the  enchanted  land, 

In  marvels  rich  to  thine  own  sons  displayed. 

In  finding  thee  are  all  things  round  us  found; 

In  losing  thee  are  all  things  lost  beside ; 

Ears  have  we,  but  in  vain  strange  voices  sound; 

And  to  our  eyes  the  vision  is  denied. 

We  wander  in  the  country  far  remote. 

Mid  tombs  and  ruined  piles  in  death  to  dwell; 

Or  on  the  records  of  past  greatness  dote, 

And  for  a  buried  soul  the  living  sell ; 

Wliile  on  our  path  bewildered  falls  the  night 

That  ne'er  returns  us  to  the  fields  of  light. 

Jones  Vert.— 1813 . 


THE   LAND    OF  DREAMS. 

'  Awake,  awake,  my  little  boy  ! 

'  Thou  wast  thy  mother's  only  joy; 

'  Why  dost  thou  weep  in  thy  gentle  sleep  ? 

'  P  wake  !  thy  father  does  thee  keep.' 

— '  O  what  land  is  the  Land  of  Dreams  ? 

'  What  are  its  mountains,  and  what  are  its  streams 

'  O  father  !  I  saw  my  mother  there, 

'  Among  the  lilies  by  waters  fair. 


66  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

'  Among  the  lambs,  clothed  in  white, 

'  She  walk'cl  with  her  Thomas  in  sweet  delight : 

'  I  wept  for  J03' ;  like  a  dove  I  mourn : — 

'  O  when  shall  I  again  return  ! ' 

— '  Dear  child  !  I  also  by  pleasant  streams 

'  Have  wander'd  all  night  in  the  Land  of  Dreams  :- 

*  But,  though  calm  and  Avarm  the  waters  wide, 
'  I  could  not  get  to  the  other  side.' 

— 'Father,  O  father  !  what  do  we  here, 
'  In  this  land  of  unbelief  and  fear  ? — 

*  The  Land  of  Dreams  is  better  far, 
'Above  the  light  of  the  morning  star.' 

William  Blake— 1757-1828. 


NOT  LOST,  BUT  GONE  BEFORE. 

How  mournful  seems,  in  broken  dreams. 

The  memory  of  the  day, 
When  icy  Death  had  sealed  the  breath 

Of  some  dear  form  of  clay. 

When  pale,  unmoved,  the  face  we  loved, 

The  face  we  thought  so  fair, 
And  the  hand  lies  cold,  whose  fervent  hold 

Once  charmed  away  despair. 

Oh,  what  could  heal  the  grief  we  feel 

For  hopes  that  come  no  more. 
Had  we  ne'er  heard  the  Scripture  word, 

"Not  lost,  but  gone  before." 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  67 

Oh  sadly  yet  with  vain  regret 

The  widowed  heart  must  yearn ; 
And  mothers  weep  their  babes  asleep 

In  the  sunlight's  vain  return. 

The  brother's  heart  shall  rue  to  part 

From  the  one  througli  childhood  known; 

And  the  orphan's  tears  lament  for  years 
A  friend  and  father  gone. 

For  death  and  life,  with  ceaseless  strife, 

Beat  wild  on  this  world's  shore, 
And  all  our  calm  is  in  that  balm, 

"Not  lost,  but  gone  before." 

Oh  !  world  wherein  nor  death,  nor  sin, 

Nor  weary  warfare  dwells ; 
Their  blessed  home  we  parted  from 

With  sobs  and  sad  farewells. 

Where  eyes  awake,  for  whose  dear  sake 

Our  owm  with  tears  grow  dim, 
And  faint  accords  of  dying  words 

Are  changed  for  heaven's  sweet  hymn; 

Oh  !  there  at  last,  life's  trials  past. 

We'll  meet  our  loved  once  more. 
Whose  feet  have  trod  the  path  to  God — - 

"Not  lost,  but  gone  before.'' 

Hon.  Mrs.  Norton.— 1808-1877. 


68  FAITH    AND    RELIGION. 


THE   FLOWER. 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  thy  returns  !  e'en  as  the  flowers  in  spring — 

To  which,  besides  their  own  demean, 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 
Grief  melts  away 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

"Who  would  have  thought  my  shrivelPd  heart 
Could  have  recovered  greenness  ?     It  was  gone 

Quite  under  ground ;  as  flow'rs  depart 

To  see  their  mother-root  when  they  have  blown, 

Where  they  together. 

All  tlie  hard  weather, 

Dead  to  the  world,  keep  house,  unknown. 

These  are  Thy  wonders,  Lord  of  power: 
Killing  and  quick'ning,  bringing  down  to  hell 

And  up  to  heaven  in  an  hour : 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing-bell. 
We  say  amiss. 
This  or  that  is,  — 
Thy  word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell. 

O  that  I  once  past  changing  were, 
Fast  in  Thy  paradise,  wliere  no  flower  can  wither  ! 

Many  a  spring  I  shoot  up  fair, 
Off'ring  at  heav'n,  growing  and  groaning  thither; 
Nor  doth  my  flower 
Want-a  spring  shower, 
My  sins  and  I  joining  together. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  69 

But,  while  I  grow  in  a  straight  line, 
Still  upwards  bent,  as  if  heav'n  were  mine  own, 

Thy  anger  comes,  and  I  decline ; 
What  frost  to  that  ?     What  pole  is  not  the  zone 
Where  all  things  burn, 
When  Thou  dost  turn. 
And  the  least  frown  of  Thine  is  shown. 

And  now  in  age  I  bud  again, 
After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write ; 
I  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing ;  O,  my  only  Light, 
It  cannot  be 
That  I  am  he 
On  whom  Thy  tempests  fell  all  night  ! 

These  are  Thy  wonders.  Lord  of  love. 
To  make  us  see  we  are  but  flowers  that  glide ; 

Which  when  we  once  can  find  and  prove. 
Thou  hast  a  garden  for  us  where  to  bide. 
Who  would  be  more, 
Swelling  through  store, 
Forfeit  their  paradise  by  their  pride. 

George  Herbert.— 1593-1633. 


THE   ODOR. 


How  sweetly  doth  My  Master  sound  ! — My  Master  ! 

As  ambergris  leaves  a  rich  scent 
Unto  the  taster. 

So  do  these  words  a  sweet  content 
An  Oriental  fragrancy — My  Master  ! 


70 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 


With  these  all  day  I  do  perfume  my  mind, 
My  mind  even  thrust  into  them  both— 

That  I  might  find 
What  cordials  make  this  curious  broth, 

Tliis  l)roth  of  smells,  that  feeds  and  fats  my  mind. 

My  Master,  shall  I  speak  ?     O  that  to  Thee 

My  servant  were  a  little  so 
As  flesh  may  be  ! 

That  these  two  words  might  creep  and  grow 
To  some  degree  of  spiciness  to  Thee  ! 

Then  should  the  pomander,  which  was  before 
A  speaking  sweet,  mend  by  reflection, 

And  tell  me  more ; 
For  pardon  of  my  imperfection 

Would  warm  and  work  it  sweetei-than  before. 

For  when  My  Master,  which  alone  is  sweet. 
And,  e'en  in  my  unworthiness  pleasing, 

Shall  call  and  meet 
My  servant,  as  Thee  not  displeasing, 

That  call  is  but  the  breathing  of  the  sweet. 

This  breathing  would  with  gains,  by  sweet'ning  me, 
(As  sweet  things  traffic  when  they  meet) 

Return  to  Thee; 
And  so  tliis  new  commerce  and  sweet 
Should  all  my  life  employ,  and  busy  me. 

George  Herbert.— 1593-1633. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  71 


COMPLAINING. 


Do  not  beguile  my  heart, 

Because  thou  art 
My  power  and  wisdom  !     Put  me  not  to  shame 

Because  I  am 
Thy  clay  that  weeps,  Thy  dust  that  calls  ! 

Thou  art  the  Lord  of  Glory — 

The  deed  and  story 
Are  both  Thy  due;  but  I  a  silly  fly, 

That  live  or  die, 
According  as  the  weather  falls. 

Art  Thou  all  justice,  Lord  ? 

Shows  not  Thy  word 
More  attributes  ?     Am  I  all  throat  or  eye, 

To  weep  or  cry  ? 
Have  I  no  parts  but  those  of  grief  ? 

Let  not  Thy  wrathful  power 
Afiiict  my  hour. 
My  inch  of  life ;  or  let  Thy  gracious  power 

Contract  my  hour 
That  I  may  climb  and  find  relief. 

George  Herbert,— 1593-1633. 


73  FAITH   AND   KELIGION. 


THOU   ART,   0    GOD! 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  Thee. 

Where'er  we  turn  Thy  glories  shine. 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine. 

"When  day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  Heaven ; 

Those  hues,  that  make  the  sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant.  Lord,  are  Thine. 

When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies. 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes ; — 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fire§  divine. 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord,  are  Thine. 

When  youthful  spring  around  us  breathes, 
Thy  spirit  w^arms  her  fragrant  sigh ; 

And  every  flower  the  summer  wreathes 
Is  born  beneath  tliat  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn  Thy  glories  shine. 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine. 

Thomas  Moore.— 1779-1853. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  73 


THIS   WORLD   IS  ALL   A  FLEETING   SHOW. 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show 

For  man's  illusion  given ; 
The  smiles  of  joy,  the  tears  of  woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow, — 

There's  nothing  true  but  Heaven! 

And  false  the  light  on  glory's  plume. 

As  fading  hues  of  even ; 
And  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloom, 
Are  blossoms  gathered  for  the  tomb, — 

There's  nothing  bright  but  Heaven! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day. 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven, 
And  fancy's  flash  and  reason's  ray 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troul)led  way, — 
There's  nothing  calm  but  Heaven ! 

Thomas  Moore.— 1779-1853. 


THE  BETTER  LAND. 


I  HEAR  thee  speak  of  the  better  land. 
Thou  call'st  its  children  a  happy  band; 
Mother  !  oh,  where  is  that  radiant  shore  ? 
Shall  we  not  seek  it,  and  weep  no  more  ? 
Is  it  where  the  flower  of  the  orange  blows, 
And  the  flre-flies  glance  through  the  myrtle  boughs  ? 
Not  there ;  not  there,  my  child. 


74  FAITH  AND   RELIGION. 

Is  it  where  the  feathery  palm-trees  rise, 
And  the  date  grows  ripe  under  sunny  skies  ? 
Or  'midst  the  green  islands  of  glittering  seas, 
Where  fragrant  forests  perfume  the  breeze, 
And  strange  bright  birds  on  their  starry  wings 
Bear  the  rich  hues  of  all  glorious  things  ? 
Not  there ;  not  there,  my  child. 

Is  it  far  away  in  some  region  old. 
Where  the  rivers  wander  o'er  sands  of  gold  ? 
Where  the  burning  rays  of  the  ruby  shine, 
And  the  diamond  lights  up  the  secret  mine, 
And  the  pearl  gleams  forth  from  the  coral  strand — • 
Is  it  there,  sweet  mother,  that  better  land  ? 
Not  there ;  not  there,  my  child. 

Eye  hath  not  seen  it,  my  gentle  boy. 
Ear  hath  not  heard  its  deep  songs  of  joy; 
Dreams  cannot  picture  a  world  so  fair, 
Sorrow  and  death  may  not  enter  there ; 
Time  doth  not  breathe  on  its  fadeless  bloom ; 
For  beyond  the  clouds,  and  beyond  the  tomb. 
It  is  there ;  it  is  there,  my  child. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hem ans.— 1794-1835. 


THEY  ARE  ALL  GONE. 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light, 

And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear; 


FAITH   AND    RELIGION.  75 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast, 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove — 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  tlie  sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days — 
My  days  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  hope !  and  high  humility — 

High  as  the  heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  showed  them  me 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  death — the  jewel  of  the  just — 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark ! 

What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest  may  know, 

At  first  siglit,  if  the  bird  be  flown ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep. 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes. 
And  into  glory  peep. 


Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there, 
But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gives  room, 
She'll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 


76  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  Thee ! 
Resume  thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  fill 

My  perspective  still  as  they  pass ; 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill 
Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

Henry  Vaughan— 1621-1695. 


THE   OTHER  WORLD. 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, — 

A  world  we  do  not  see ; 
Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 

May  bring  us  there  to  be. 

Its  gentle  breezes  fan  our  cheek ; 

Amid  our  worldly  cares 
Its  gentle  voices  w^hisper  love, 

And  mingle  with  our  prayers. 

Sweet  hearts  around  us  throb  and  beat, 
Sweet  helping  hands  are  stirred. 

And  palpitates  the  veil  between 
With  breathings  almost  heard. 

The  silence — awful,  sweet,  and  calm — 
They  have  no  power  to  break  ; 

For  mortal  words  are  not  for  them 
To  utter  or  partake. 


FAITH    AND    RELIGION.  77 

So  thin,  so  soft,  so  sweet  they  glide, 

So  near  to  press  they  seem, — 
They  seem  to  lull  us  to  our  rest, 

And  melt  into  our  dream. 

And  in  the  hush  of  rest  they  bring 

'Tis  easy  now  to  see 
How  lovely  and  how  sweet  a  pass 

The  hour  of  death  may  be. 

To  close  the  eye,  and  close  the  ear. 

Wrapped  in  a  trance  of  bliss, 
And  gently  dream  in  loving  arms 

To  swoon  to  that — from  this. 

Scarce  knowing  if  we  wake  or  sleep, 

Scarce  asking  where  we  are. 
To  feel  all  evil  sink  away, 

All  sorrow  and  all  care. 

Sweet  souls  around  us!  watch  us  still. 

Press  nearer  to  our  side, 
Into  our  thoughts,  into  our  prayers, 

With  gentle  lielpings  glide. 

Let  death  between  us  be  as  naught, 

A  dried  and  vanished  stream; 
Your  joy  be  the  reality. 

Our  suffering  life  the  dream. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.— 1813 . 


78  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO   HIS  SOUL. 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame ! 
Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame : 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying ! 

Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 

And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

Hark !  they  whisper ;  angels  say, 

"Sister  spirit,  come  away." 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes ;  it  disappears ! 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring: 
Lend,  lend  your  wings !  I  mount !  I  fly ! 
O  Grave !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  Death !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

Alexakder  Pope.— 1688-1744. 


GOD. 

O  THOU  eternal  One !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide — 
Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  flight ! 
Thou  only  God — there  is  no  God  beside ! 


FAITH    AND    RELIGION.  >^\ 

Being  above  all  beings !     Mighty  One, 
Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore! 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone- 
Embracing  all,  supporting,  ruling  o'er,— 
Being  Miiom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more! 

In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean-deep— may  count 

The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays— but,  God !  for  Thee 

There  is  no  weight  nor  measure ;  none  can  mount 

Up  to  Thy  mysteries;  Reason's  brightest  spark, 

Though  kindled  by  Thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 

To  trace  Thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark ; 

And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high, 

Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence— Lord !  in  Thee 
Eternity  had  its  foundation;  all 
Sprung  forth  from  Thee— of  light,  joj^,  harmony, 
Sole  Origin— all  life,  all  beauty  Thine ; 
Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create ; 
Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine; 
Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be!  Glorious!  Great! 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  potentate! 

Thy  chains  the  unmeasured  universe  surround 

Upheld  by  Thee,  by  Thee  inspired  with  breath! 

Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  liast  bound, 

And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death! 

As  sparks  mount  upwards  from  the  fiery  blaze, 

So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  spring  forth  from  Thee  • 

And  as  the  sjDangles  in  the  sunny  rays 


80  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of  heaven's  bright  army  glitters  in  Thy  praise. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  Thy  hand 
Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss— 
They  own  Thy  power,  accomplish  Thy  command. 
All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 
"What  shall  we  call  them?     Piles  of  crystal  light — 
A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams — 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright — 
Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams  ? 
But  Thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  Thee  is  lost : — 

What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  Thee  ? 

And  what  am  I  then? — Heaven's  unnumbered  host, 

Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 

Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance,  weighed 

Against  Thy  greatness — is  a  cipher  brought 

Against  infinity !     What  am  I  then  ?    Naught. 

Naught !     But  the  effluence  of  Thy  light  divine, 
Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom  too ; 
Yes !  in  my  spirit  doth  Thy  spirit  shine. 
As  shines  the  sun-beam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 
Naught !  but  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 
Eager  towards  Thy  presence — for  in  Thee 
I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell;  aspiring  high. 
Even  to  the  throne  of  Thy  divinity. 
I  am,  O  God !  and  surely  Thou  must  be  I 


AITH   AITO   RELIGION.  gl 

Thou  art ! — directing,  guiding  all — Thou  art ! 

Direct  my  understanding  then  to  Thee ; 

Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart ; 

Though  but  an  atom  midst  immensity, 

Still  I  am  something,  fashioned  by  Thy  hand! 

I  hold  a  middle  rank  'twixt  heaven  and  earth — 

On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand, 

Close  to  the  realms  where  angels  have  their  birth, 

Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land ! 

The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me — 

In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost, 

And  the  next  step  is  spirit — deity ! 

I  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dust! 

A  monarch  and  a  slave — a  worm,  a  god ! 

Whence  came  I  here,  and  how  ?  so  marvellously 

Constructed  and  conceived  ?  unknown !    this  clod 

Lives  surely  through  some  higher  energy; 

For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be ! 

Creator,  yes !  Thy  wisdom  and  Thy  word 
Created  rac!     Thou  source  of  life  and  good! 
Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord ! 
Thy  light.  Thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death ;  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 
Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere. 
Even  to  its  source — to  Thee — its  author  there. 

Oh  thoughts  ineffable !  oh  visions  blest ! 
Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  Thee, 


82  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

Yet  shall  Thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 
And  waft  its  homage  to  Thy  deity. 
God !  thus  alone  my  lowly  thoughts  can  soar, 
Thus  seek  Thy  presence — Beiug  wise  and  good! 
Midst  Thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore; 
And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more 
The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 

From  the  Russian  of  Dezghavin, 

By  John  Bowking.— 179S-1873. 


ST.  AGNES'  EVE. 


Deep  on  the  convent-roof  the  snows 

Are  sparkling  to  the  moon : 
My  breath  to  heaven  like  vapor  goes : 

May  my  soul  follow  soon ! 
The  shadows  of  the  convent-towers 

Slant  down  the  snowy  sward, 
Still  creeping  with  the  creeping  hours 

That  lead  me  to  my  Lord : 
Make  Thou  my  spirit  pure  and  clear 

As  are  the  frosty  skies, 
Or  this  first  snowdrop  of  the  year 

That  in  my  bosom  lies. 

As  these  white  robes  are  soil'd  and  dark, 

To  yonder  shining  ground  ; 
As  this  pale  taper's  earthly  spark. 

To  yonder  argent  round ; 
So  shows  my  soul  before  the  Lamb, 

My  spirit  before  Thee ; 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  83 

So  in  mine  earthly  house  I  am, 

To  that  I  hope  to  be. 
Break  up  the  heavens,  O  Lord !  and  far, 

Thro'  all  yon  starlight  keen, 
Draw  me,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star. 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

He  lifts  me  to  the  golden  doors ; 

The  flashes  come  and  go ; 
All  heaven  bursts  her  starry  floors, 

And  strews  her  lights  below, 
And  deepens  on  and  up !  the  gates 

Roll  back,  and  far  within 
For  me  the  Heavenly  Bridegroom  waits, 

To  make  me  pure  of  sin. 
The  sabbaths  of  Eternity, 

One  sabbath  deep  and  wide — 
A  light  upon  the  shining  sea — 

The  Bridegroom  with  his  bride ! 

Alfred  Tennyson.— 1809 . 


TELL  ME,  YE  WINGED  WINDS. 

Tell  me,  ye  winged  winds. 
That  round  my  pathway  roar, 

Do  ye  not  know  some  spot 

Where  mortals  weep  no  more  ? 

Some  lone  and  pleasant  dell, 
Some  valley  in  the  west, 


84  FAITH   AKD   RELIGION. 

Where,  free  from  toil  and  pain, 
The  weary  soul  may  rest  ? 
The  loud  wind  dwindled  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sigh'd  for  pity  as  it  answer'd,  "No." 

Tell  me,  thou  mighty  deep, 

Whose  billows  round  me  play, 
Know'st  thou  some  favor'd  spot. 

Some  island  far  away, 
Where  weary  man  may  find 

The  bliss  for  which  he  sighs, — 
Where  sorrow  never  lives. 
And  friendship  never  dies  ? 
The  loud  waves,  rolling  in  perpetual  flow, 
Stopp'd  for  a  while,  and  sigh'd  to  answer,  "No." 

And  thou,  serenest  moon. 

That  with  such  lovely  face 
Dost  look  upon  the  earth, 

Asleep  in  night's  embrace, 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round 

Hast  thou  not  seen  some  spot 
Where  miserable  man 

May  find  a  happier  lot  ? 
Behind  a  cloud  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe, 
And  a  voice,  sweet  but  sad,  responded,  "No." 

Tell  me,  my  secret  soul. 

Oh,  tell  me,  Hope  and  Faith, 

Is  there  no  resting-place 
From  sorrow,  sin,  and  death  ? 

Is  there  no  happy  spot 
Where  mortals  may  be  bless'd. 


FAITH   AND   RELIGION.  85 

Where  grief  may  find  a  balm, 
And  weariness  a  rest  ? 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  best  boons  to  mortals  given, 
Waved  their  bright  wings,    and  whisper'd,    "Yes,   in 
Heaven." 

Charles  Mackat.— 1813 . 


JOY  AND  PEACE  IN  BELIEVING. 

Sometimes  a  light  surprises 

The  Christian  while  he  sings ; 
It  is  the  Lord,  who  rises 

With  healing  in  His  wings. 
When  comforts  are  declining, 

He  grants  the  soul  again 
A  season  of  clear  shining, 

To  cheer  it  after  rain. 

In  holy  contemplation, 

We  sweetly  then  pursue 
The  theme  of  God's  salvation, 

And  find  it  ever  new ; 
Set  free  from  present  sorrow. 

We  cheerfully  can  say, 
E'en  let  the  unknown  to-morrow 

Bring  with  it  what  it  may ! 

>    It  can  bring  with  it  nothing 
But  He  will  bear  us  through ; 
Who  gives  the  lilies  clothing 
Will  clothe  His  people  too. 


86  FAITH   AND   RELIGION. 

Beneath  the  spreading  heavens, 

No  creature  but  is  fed ; 
And  he  who  feeds  the  ravens 

Will  give  His  children  bread. 

The  vine  nor  fig-tree  neither 

Their  wonted  fruit  should  bear, 
Though  all  the  fields  should  wither. 

Nor  flocks  nor  herds  be  there : 
Yet  God  the  same  abiding 

His  praise  shall  tune  my  voice, 
For,  while  in  him  confiding, 

I  cannot  but  rejoice. 

William  Co wper.— 1731-1800. 


CHARITY. 


Could  I  command,  with  voice  or  pen, 
The  tongues  of  angels  and  of  men, 
A  tinkling  cymbal,  sounding  brass, 
My  speech  and  preaching  would  surpass ; 
Vain  were  such  eloquence  to  me. 
Without  the  grace  of  charity. 

Could  I  the  martyr's  flame  endure, 
Give  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor — 
Had  I  the  faith  from  Alpine  steep 
To  hurl  the  mountain  to  the  deep — 
What  were  such  zeal,  such  power,  to  me 
Without  the  grace  of  charity? 


FAITH   AND    RELIGION.  87 

Could  I  behold  with  prescient  eye 
Things  future,  as  the  things  gone  by — 
Could  I  all  earthly  knowledge  scan. 
And  mete  out  heaven  with  a  span — 
Poor  were  the  chief  of  gifts  to  me 
Without  the  chiefest — charity. 

Charity  suffers  long,  is  kind — 

Charity  bears  a  humble  mind — 

Rejoices  not  when  ills  befall, 

But  glories  in  the  weal  of  all ; 

She  hopes,  believes,  and  envies  not, 

Nor  vaunts,  nor  murmurs  o'er  her  lot. 

The  tongues  of  teachers  shall  be  dumb. 
Prophets  discern  not  things  to  come. 
Knowledge  shall  vanish  out  of  thought, 
And  miracles  no  more  be  wrought ; 
But  charity  shall  never  fail — 
Her  anchor  is  within  the  veil. 

James  Montgomery. — 1771-1854.    . 


THE  CHILD  LEANS  ON  ITS  PARENT'S  BREAST. 

The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast. 
Leaves  there  its  cares,  and  is  at  rest ; 
The  bird  sits  singing  by  his  nest, 

And  tells  aloud 
His  trust  in  God,  and  so  is  blest 

'Neath  every  cloud. 


88  FAITH    AND    RELIGION. 

He  has  no  store,  he  sows  no  seed, 
Yet  sings  aloud,  and  doth  not  heed; 
By  flowing  stream  or  grassy  mead 

He  sings  to  shame 
Men,  who  forget,  in  fear  of  need, 

A  Father's  name. 

The  heart  that  trusts  forever  sings, 
And  feels  as  light  as  it  had  wings ; 
A  well  of  peace  within  it  springs ; 

Come  good  or  ill 
Whate'er  to-day,  to-morrow  brings. 

It  is  His  will. 

Isaac  Williams.— 1803-1865. 


6Uaniii{(s    from    t|e    foets 


(Elcaninja    from    tl)£    Poct0. 


KEGENERATION. 

I  NEED  a  cleansing  change  within  — 
My  life  must  once  again  begin  ; 
New  hope  I  need,  and  youth  renewed. 
And  more  than  human  fortitude,  — 
New  faith,  new  love,  and  strength  to  cast 
Away  the  fetters  of  the  past. 

Ah!  why  did  fabling  Poets  tell 
That  Lethe  only  flows  in  Hell  1 
As  if,  in  truth,  there  was  no  river 
Whereby  the  leper  may  be  clean 
But  that  which  flows,  and  flows  forever, 
And  crawls  along,  unheard,  unseen, 
Whence  brutish  spirits,  in  contagious  shoals, 
Ctuaff*  the  dull  drench  of  apathetic  souls ! 

(91) 


93  HARTLEY    COLERIDGE. 

Ah,  no  !  but  Leth4  flows  aloft 
With  lulling  murmur,  kind  and  soft, 
As  voice  which  sinners  send  to  heaven 
When  first  they  feel  their  sins  forgiven ; 
Its  every  drop  as  bright  and  clear 
As  if  indeed  it  were  a  tear 
Shed  by  the  lovely  Magdalen 
For  Him  that  was  dpspised  of  nrt^n. 

It  is  the  only  fount  of  bliss 

In  all  the  human  wilderness  — 

It  is  the  true  Bethesda  —  solely 

Endued  with  healing  might,  and  holy  ;  — 

Not  once  a  year,  but  evermore  — 

Not  one,  but  all  men  to  restore. 


TO  A   CHILD. 


Ere  thou  wast  born  "  into  this  breathing  world," 
God  wrote  some  characters  upon  thy  heart. 

Oh,  let  them  not,  like  beads  of  dew  impearled 
On  morning  blades,  before  the  noon  depart ! 

But  morning  drops  before  the  noon  exhale. 
And  yet  those  drops  appear  again  at  even  ; 

So  childish  innocence  on  earth  must  fail, 
Yet  may  return  to  usher  thee  to  heaven. 


HARTLEY    COLERIDGE.  93 

TO  A  FRIEND 
SUFFERING   UNDER  BEREAVEMENT. 

Sad  night  for  us,  but  better  day  for  her ! 

Well  may'st  thou  mourn,  but  mourn  not  without  hope: 

Thou  art  not  one,  I  know,  that  can  believe 

A  pausing  pulse,  an  intermitted  breath, 

Or  aught  that  can  to  mortal  flesh  befal, 

Can  turn  to  nothing  any  ray  of  God, 

Or  frustrate  one  good  purpose  of  our  Lord. 

She  was  a  purpose  of  her  great  Creator, 

Begun  on  earth,  and  well  on  earth  pursued, 

Now  in  the  heaven  of  heavens  consummate, 

Or  only  waiting  the  predestined  day, 

The  flower  and  glory  of  her  consummation. 


RELIGIOUS   DIFFERENCES. 

Yea,  we  do  differ,  differ  still  we  must. 

For  language  is  the  type  of  thought,  and  thought 

The  slave  of  sense ;  and  sense  is  only  fraught 

With  cheques  and  tokens  taken  upon  trust, 

Not  for  their  worth  but  promise.     Earth  is  all 

One  mighty  parable  of  Hell  and  Heaven. 

The  portion  we  can  read  at  best  is  small  ; 

'Tis  little  that  we  know  ;  and  if  befal 

That  Faith  do  wander,  like  the  restless  raven 

That  rather  chose  without  an  aim  to  roam 


94  HARTLEY    COLERIDGE. 

O'er  the  blank  world  of  waters,  than  to  seek. 
In  the  one  sacred  ark,  a  duteous  home, 
May  good  be  with  it ! 

Yes,  we  do  differ  when  we  most  agree. 
For  words  are  not  the  same  to  you  and  me. 
And  it  may  be  our  several  spiritual  needs 
Are  best  supplied  by  seeming  different  creeds. 

And  differing,  we  agree  in  one 

Inseparable  communion, 
If  the  true  life  be  in  our  hearts  —  the  faith, 

Which  not  to  want  is  death ; 

To  want  is  penance  ;  to  desire 

Is  purgatorial  fire  ; 
To  hope,  is  paradise  ;  and  to  believe 
Is  all  of  Heaven  that  earth  can  e'er  receive. 


ON   A   FRIEND'S   DEATH. 

Sad  doth  it  seem,  but  nought  is  really  sad, 

Or  only  sad  that  we  may  better  be  ; 
We  should,  in  very  gulfs  of  grief,  be  glad. 

The  great  intents  of  God  could  we  but  see. 

Think  of  the  souls  that  he  in  heaven  will  meet. 

Some  that  on  earth  he  knew  and  loved  most  dearly  ; 

And  whose  perfection  at  their  Saviour's  feet, 
Without  a  stain  of  earth,  will  shine  so  clearly. 


HARTLEY    COLERIDGE.  95 

Think,  too,  of  souls  on  earth  unknown  to  him, 

Whom  he  will  know  as  well  as  kin  or  neighbors  — 

Laborious  samts,  that  now  with  seraphim 
Expect  the  blessed  fruit  of  all  their  labors. 

Think  that  he  is  what  oft  he  wished  to  be 
While  yet  he  was  a  mortal  man  on  earth  ; 

Then  weep,  but  know  that  grief's  extremity 
Contains  a  hope  which  never  was  in  mirth. 


THE   WORD    OF    GOD. 


In  holy  books  wc  read  how  God  hath  spoken 
To  holy  men  in  many  different  ways  ; 

But  hath  the  present  worked  no  sign  or  token  1 
Is  God  quite  silent  in  these  latter  days  ? 

And  hath  our  heavenly  Sire  departed  quite, 
And  left  His  poor  babes  in  this  world  alone, 

And  only  left  for  blind  belief — not  sight  — 
Some  quaint  old  riddles  in  a  tongue  unknown  ? 

Oh  !  think  it  not,  sweet  maid  !     God  comes  to  us 
With  every  day,  with  every  star  that  rises ; 

In  every  moment  dwells  the  Righteous, 

And  starts  upon  the  soul  in  sweet  surprises. 


yo  HARTLEY   COLERIDGE. 

The  Word  were  but  a  blank,  a  hollow  sound, 
If  He  that  spake  it  were  not  speaking  still, 

If  all  the  light  and  all  the  shade  around 
Were  aught  but  issues  of  Almighty  will. 

Sweet  girl,  believe  that  every  bird  that  sings, 
And  every  flower  that  stars  the  elastic  sod, 

And  every  thought  the  happy  summer  brings 
To  thy  pure  spirit,  is  a  word  of  God. 


SONNETS. 


Let  me  not  deem  that  I  was  made  in  vain, 
Or  that  my  Being  was  an  accident. 
Which  Fate,  in  working  its  sublime  intent. 
Not  wished  to  be,  to  hinder  would  not  deign. 
Each  drop  uncounted  in  a  storm  of  rain 
Hath  its  own  mission,  and  is  duly  sent 
To  its  own  leaf  or  blade,  not  idly  spent 
'Mid  myriad  dimples  on  the  shipless  main. 
The  very  shadow  of  an  insect's  wing 
For  which  the  violet  cared  not  while  it  stayed 
Yet  felt  the  lighter  for  its  vanishing, 
Proved  that  the  sun  was  shining  by  its  shade  : 
Then  can  a  drop  of  the  eternal  spring. 
Shadow  of  living  lights,  in  vain  be  made? 


HARTLEY    COLERIDGE.  97 


Think  upon  Death,  'tis  good  to  think  of  Death, 
But  better  far  to  think  upon  the  Dead. 
Death  is  a  spectre  with  a  bony  head, 
Or  the  mere  mortal  body  without  breath, 
The  state  foredoomed  of  every  son  of  Seth, 
Decomposition  —  dust,  or  dreamless  sleep. 
But  the  dear  Dead  are  those  for  whom  we  weep. 
For  whom  I  credit  all  the  Bible  saith. 
Dead  is  my  father,  dead  is  my  good  mother, 
And  what  on  earth  have  I  to  do  but  die  ? 
But  if  by  grace  1  reach  the  blessed  sky, 
I  fain  would  see  the  same,  and  not  another  ; 
The  very  father  that  1  used  to  see. 
The  mother  that  has  nursed  me  on  her  knee. 

in. 

HAGAR 

Lone  in  the  wilderness,  her  child  and  she. 
Sits  the  dark  beauty,  and  her  fierce-eyed  boy ; 
A  heavy  burden,  and  no  winsome  toy 
To  such  as  she,  a  hanging  babe  must  be. 
A  slave  without  a  master  —  wild,  nor  free, 
With  anger  in  her  heart !  and  in  her  face 
Shame  for  foul  wrong  and  undeserved  disgrace, 
Poor  Hagar  mourns  her  lost  virginity  ! 
Poor  woman,  fear  not  —  God  is  everywhere  ; 
Thy  silent  tears,  thy  thirsty  infant's  moan, 


98  HARTLEY    COLERTDGF.. 

Are  known  to  Him,  whose  never-absent  care 
Still  wakes  to  make  all  hearts  and  souls  his  own ; 
He  sends  an  angel  from  beneath  his  throne 
To  cheer  the  outcast  in  the  desert  bare. 


IV. 

ISAIAH  XLVI.  V.  9. 

When  I  consider  all  the  things  that  were, 
And  count  them  upwards  from  the  general  flood,  • 
The  tricks  of  fraud,  and  violent  deeds  of  blood, 
Weigh  down  the  heart  with  sullen,  deep  despair. 
I  well  believe  that  Satan,  Prince  of  Air, 
Torments  to  ill  the  pleasurable  feeling ; 
But  ever  and  anon,  a  breeze  of  healing 
Proclaims  that  God  is  always  everywhere. 
'Twas  hard  to  see  him  in  the  days  of  old, 
And  harder  still  to  see  our  God  to-day  ; 
For  prayer  is  slack,  and  love,  alas !  is  cold. 
And  Faith,  a  wanderer,  weak  and  wide  astray : 
Who  hath  the  faith,  the  courage,  to  behold 
God  in  the  judgments  that  have  passed  away  ? 


V. 

All  Nature  ministers  to  Hope.     The  snow 
Of  sluggard  Winter,  bedded  on  the  hill. 
And  the  small  tinkle  of  the  frozen  rill. 


HARTLEY    COLERIDGE.  99 

The  svvoln  flood's  sullen  roar,  the  storms  that  go 
With  crash,  and  howl,  and  horrid  voice  of  woe, 
Making  swift  passage  for  their  lawless  will  — 
All  prophesy  of  good.     The  hungry  trill 
Of  the  lone  birdie,  cowering  close  below 
The  dripping  eaves  —  it  hat  i  a  kindly  feeling, 
And  cheers  the  life  that  livei;  for  milder  hours. 
Why,  then,  since  Nature  still  is  busy  healing, 
And  Time,  the  master,  his  own  work  concealing. 
Decks  every  grave  with  verdure  and  with  flowers,  — 
Why  should  Despair  oppress  immortal  powers  1 

VI. 

FAITH. 

How  much  thy  Holy  Name  hath  been  misused, 
Beginner  of  all  good,  all-mighty  Faith  ! 
Some  men  thy  blessed  symbols  have  abused, 
Making  them  badge  or  secret  Shibboleth 
For  greed  accepted,  or  for  spite  refused. 
Or  just  endured  for  fear  of  pain  or  death. 
To  some,  by  fearful  conscience  self-accused. 
Thou  com'st  a  goblin  self,  a  hideous  wrailh . 
With  such  as  these  thou  art  an  inward  strife, 
A  shame,  a  misery,  and  a  death  in  life, 
A  self- asserting,  self-disputing  lie  ; 
A  thing  to  unbelief  so  near  allied, 
That  it  would  gladly  be  a  suicide. 
And  only  lives  because  it  dare  not  die 
7 


100  HARTLEY    COLERIDGE. 

vn. 

BELIEVE    AND    PRAY. 

Believe  and  pray.     Who  can  believe  and  pray 

Shall  never  fail  nor  falter,  though  the  fate 

Of  his  abode,  or  geniture,  or  date, 

With  charms  beguile,  or  threats  obstruct  his  way. 

For  free  is  Faith,  and  potent  to  obey, 

And  Love,  content  in  patient  prayer  to  wait. 

Like  the  poor  cripple  at  the  Beautiful  Gate, 

Shall  be  relieved  on  some  miraculous  day. 

Lord,  I  believe  !  —  Lord,  help  mine  unbelief! 

If  I  could  pray,  I  know  that  Thou  would'st  hear  j 

Well  were  it  though  my  faith  were  only  grief, 

And  1  could  pray  but  with  a  contrite  tear. 

But  none  can  pray  whose  wish  is  not  Thy  will, 

And  none  believe  who  are  not  with  Thee  still. 

VIU. 

"MULTCM    DILEXIT.''* 

She  sat  and  wept  beside  His  feet ;  the  weight 
Of  sin  oppressed  her  heart ;  for  all  the  blame, 
And  the  poor  malice  of  the  worldly  shame. 
To  her  was  past,  extinct,  and  out  of  date. 
Only  the  sin  remained  —  the  leprous  state  :  — 
She  would  be  melted  by  the  heat  of  love, 
By  fires  far  fiercer  than  are  blown  to  prove 

*  She  loved  much. 


HARTLEY    COLERIDGE.  101 

And  purge  the  silver  ore  adulterate. 

She  sat  and  wept,  and  with  her  untressed  hair 

Still  wiped  the  feet  she  was  so  blest  to  touch  ; 

And  He  wiped  off  the  soiling  of  despair 

From  her  sweet  soul,  because  she  loved  so  much. 

I  am  a  sinner,  full  of  doubts  and  fears, 

Make  me  a  humble  thing  of  love  and  tears. 

IX. 

REPENTANCE  BEFORE  FORGIVENESS.* 

If  I  have  sinned  in  act,  I  may  repent ; 

If  I  have  erred  in  thought,  I  may  disclaim 

My  silent  error,  and  yet  feel  no  shame ; 

But  if  my  soul,  big  with  an  ill  intent. 

Guilty  in  will,  by  fate  be  innocent, 

Or  being  bad,  yet  murmurs  at  the  curse 

And  incapacity  of  being  worse, 

Making  my  hungry  passion  still  keep  Lent 

In  keen  expectance  of  a  Carnival, — 

Where,  in  all  worlds  that  round  the  Sun  revolve 

And  shed  their  influence  on  this  passive  ball, 

Abides  a  power  that  can  my  soul  absolve  1 

Could  any  sin  survive,  and  be  forgiven, 

One  sinful  wish  would  make  a  hell  of  heaven. 

*  "  May  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain  the  offence  ?  "  —  Shakspcare, 


103  HARTLEY   COLERIDGE. 

SENSE,  IF  YOU   CAN  FIND  IT. 

Like  one  pale,  flitting,  lonely  gleam 
Of  sunshine  on  a  winter's  day, 
There  came  a  thought  upon  my  dream, 
I  know  not  whence,  but  fondly  deem 
It  came  from  far  away. 

Those  sweet,  sweet  snatches  of  delight 
That  visit  our  bedarkened  clay, 

Like  passage  birds,  with  hasty  flight 

It  cannot  be  they  perish  quite, 
Although  they  pass  away. 

They  come  and  go,  and  come  again ; 

They're  ours,  whatever  time  they  stay : 
Think  not,  my  heart,  they  come  in  vain, 
If  one  brief  while  they  soothe  thy  pain 

Before  they  pass  away. 

But  whither  go  they  ?     No  one  knows 

Their  home,  —  but  yet  they  seem  to  say. 

That  far  beyond  this  gulf  of  woes, 

There  is  a  region  of  repose 
For  them  that  pass  av/ay. 


1770-1834. 


WHO   PRAYETH  BEST. 

O  wedding-Guest  !  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  : 
So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 

O  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 
'Tis  sweeter  far  to  me, 
To  walk  together  to  the  kirk 
With  a  goodly  company  ! 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 

And  all  together  pray  ; 

While  each  to  his  great  Father  bends, 

Old  men,  and  babes,  and  loving  friends, 

And  youths  and  maidens  gay  ! 

7  *  (103) 


"104  SAMFEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 

Farewell !  farewell  !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  Wedding-Guest, 
He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small  ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 


MAN  REDEEMABLE. 
LINES    ON   VISITING    A   PRISON. 

And  this  place  my  forefathers  made  for  man  !  .  . 
With  other  ministrations  thou,  O  Nature ! 
Healest  thy  wandering  and  distempered  child  : 
Thou  pourest  on  him  thy  soft  influences, 
Thy  sunny  hues,  fair  forms,  and  breathing  sweets, 
Thy  melodies  of  woods,  and  winds,  and  waters, 
Till  he  relent,  and  can  no  more  endure 
To  be  a  jarring  and  a  dissonant  thing 
Amid  this  general  dance  and  minstrelsy ; 
But,  bursting  into  tears,  wins  back  his  way, 
His  angry  spirit  healed  and  harmonized 
By  the  benignant  touch  of  love  and  beauty. 


1770-1850. 


ESTTBIATIONS  OF  rMMORTALITY,  PROM  RECOLLEC 
TIONS  OF  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting  : 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  Cometh  from  afar  : 

Not  in  entire  forgetful ness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home  : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy  ; 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, — 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy  ; 
The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest, 

(105) 


106  WILLIAM    WORDS\TOETH. 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 


Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity  ! 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage  !  thou  eye  among  the  blind, 
That,  deaf,  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep, 
Haunted  for  ever  by  the  Eternal  Mind,  — 

Mighty  prophet !  Seer  blest ! 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest, 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by,  — 
Thou  little  child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height,  — 
Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife  ? 
Full  soon  thy  soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life ! 

O,  joy  !  that  in  our  embers 
Is  something  that  doth  live,  — 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  107 

That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  :  not  indeed 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest ; 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest, 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast:  — 

Not  for  these  I  raise 

The  song  of  thanks  and  praise: 

But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 

Of  sense  and  outward  things. 

Fallings  from  us,  vanishings  ; 

Blank  misgivings  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized ; 
High  instincts  before  which  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised  : 

But  for  those  first  affections, 

Those  shadowy  recollections, 

Which,  be  they  what  they  may. 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing; 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence  :  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never  ; 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavour, 

Nor  man,  nor  boy, 


108  WILLIAM    WOEDS WORTH. 

Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ! 

Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 
Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea, 
Which  brought  us  hither. 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore. 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

Then  sing,  ye  birds,  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song  ! 
And  let  the  young  lambs  bound. 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound  ! 
We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng, 

Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play. 
Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 
Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May  ! 
What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 
Be  now  for  ever  taken  from  my  sight, 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
Of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower ; 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind  ; 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which  having  been  must  ever  be  ; 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering  ; 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death. 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  109 

FAITH  BY   VIRTUE. 

What  then  remains  ?  — To  seek 

Those  helps,  —  for  his  occasions  ever  near, 

Who  lacks  not  will  to  use  them  :  —  vows,  renewed 

On  the  first  motion  of  a  holy  thought ; 

Vigils  of  contemplation  ;  praise  •,  and  prayer, 

A  stream,  which  from  the  fountain  of  the  heart 

[ssuing.  however  feebly,  nowhere  flows 

Without  access  of  unexpected  strength. 

But,  above  all,  the  victory  is  most  sure 

For  him^  who,  seeking  faith  by  virtue,  strives 

To  yield  entire  submission  to  the  law 

Of  Conscience ;  Conscience  reverenced  and  obeyed 

As  God's  most  intimate  Presence  in  the  soul 

And  his  most  perfect  Image  in  the  world. 

—  Endeavor  thus  to  live  ;  these  rules  regard  , 

These  helps  solicit ;   and  a  steadfast  seat 

Shall  then  be  yours  among  the  happy  few 

Who  dwell  on  earth,  yet  breathe  empyreal  air, 

Sons  of  the  morning.     For  your  nobler  part, 

Ere  disencumbered  of  her  mortal  chains, 

Doubt  shall  be  quelled  and  trouble  chased  away  ; 

With  only  such  degree  of  sadness  left 

As  may  support  longings  of  pure  desire  ! 

And  §treno;then  Love,  rejoicing  secretly 

In  the  sublime  attractions  of  the  Grave. 


110  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

TIIE  RESPONSES  OF  EXTERNAL  NATURE. 

I  HAVE  seen 

A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 

Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 

The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell  ; 

To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 

Listened  intensely  ;  and  his  countenance  soon 

Brightened  with  joy  ;  for  murmurings  from  within 

Were  heard,  —  sonorous  cadences  !  whereby 

To  his  belief,  the  monitor  expressed 

Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 

E'en  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself 

Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith  ;  and  there  are  times, 

I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 

Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things ; 

Of  ebb  and  flow,  and  ever-during  power ; 

And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 

Of  endless  agitation.     Here  you  stand. 

Adore  and  worship,  when  you  know  it  not ; 

Pious  beyond  the  intention  of  your  thought ; 

Devout  above  the  meaning  of  your  will  1 


MAN   NEVER  IRRECLABIABLE. 

'Tis  Nature's  law 

That  none,  the  meanest  of  created  things, 

Of  forms  created  the  most  vile  and  brute, 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  Ill 

The  dullest  or  most  noxious,  should  exist 
Divorced  from  good, —  a  spirit  and  pulse  of  good, 
A  life  and  soul,  to  every  mode  of  being 
Inseparably  linked.     Then  be  assured 
That  least  of  all  can  aught,  that  ever  owned 
The  heaven-regarding  eye  and  front  sublime 
Which  man  is  born  to,  —  sink,  howe'er  depressed, 
So  low  as  to  be  scorned  without  a  sin  ; 
Without  offence  to  God  cast  out  of  view 
Like  the  dry  remnant  of  a  garden  flower 
Whose  seeds  are  shed,  or  as  an  implement 
Worn  out  and  worthless. 


THE   MORAL    LAW. 


All  true  glory  rests, 
All  praise  of  safety,  and  all  happiness, 
Upon  the  moral  law.     Egyptian  Thebes, 
Tyre  by  the  margin  of  the  sounding  waves, 
Palmyra  central  in  the  desert,  fell ! 
And  the  arts  died  by  which  they  had  been  raised. 
Call  Archimedes  from  his  buried  tomb 
Upon  the  plain  of  vanished  Syracuse, 
And  feelingly  this  age  shall  make  report 
How  insecure,  how  baseless  in  itself. 
Is  that  philosophy,  whose  sway  is  framed 
For  mere  material  instruments  :  —  how  weak 
Those  arts,  and  high  inventions,  if  unpropped 
By  virtue. 

8 


112  WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 

ODE    TO    DUTY. 

Stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  ! 

O  Duty  !  if  that  name  thou  love, 

Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 

To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove  ; 

Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 

When  empty  terrors  overawe. 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 

And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  : 
Glad  hearts!  without  reproach  or  blot; 
Who  do  thy  work  and  know  it  not : 
Long  may  the  kindly  impulse  last ! 
But  thou,  if  they  should  totter,  teach  them  to  stand 
fast ! 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright. 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be. 

When  love  is  an  unerring  light. 

And  joy  its  own  security. 

And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold, 

Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 

Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed ; 

Vet  find  that  other  strength,  according  to  their  need. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  113 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried, 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 

Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust : 

And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 

Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 

The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 

But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I  may. 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul. 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 

I  supplicate  for  thy  control ; 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thought  • 

Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires  ; 

I  feel  the  weight  of  chance  desires ; 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  Lawgiver !  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace  ; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face ; 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds  ; 
And  Fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong  -, 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  thee,  are  fresh 
and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power  I 
I  call  thee  ;  I  myself  commend 


114  WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 

Unto  thy  guidance,  from  this  hour  ; 

O,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end  ! 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 

The  confidence  of  reason  give  ; 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  bondman  let  me  liv    ! 


TKE    SOUL'S   RECUPERATIVE   ENERGIES 

As  men  from  men 

Do,  in  the  constitution  of  their  souls, 

Differ,  by  mystery  not  to  be  explained ; 

And  as  we  fall  by  various  ways,  and  sink 

One  deeper  than  another,  self-condemned, 

Through  manifold  degrees  of  guilt  and  shame 

So  manifold  and  various  are  the  ways 

Of  restoration,  fashioned  to  the  steps 

Of  all  infirmity,  and  tending  all 

To  the  same  point,  —  attainable  by  all,  — 

Peace  in  ourselves  and  union  with  our  God. 


lafeit  Plton. 

1608-1674. 


SPIRITUAL   POPULATION    OF  THE    UNIVERSE. 

Nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 
That  Heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise. 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep. 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  His  works  behold, 
Both  day  and  night.     How  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thickets  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air. 
Sole,  or  responsive  to  each  other's  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator !     Oft  in  bands, 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heavenly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds 
In  full  harmonic  numbers  joined,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  Heaven. 

8  *  (115) 


116  JOHN   MILTON. 

ON  HIS  BLINDNESS. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent,  which  is  death  to  hide, 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent, 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  He  returning  chide ; 

■'  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied?  " 

I  fondly  ask  :  but  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  —  "  God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work,  or  His  own  gifts  ;  who  best 

Bear  His  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :  His  state 

Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  His  bidding  speed. 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean,  without  rest : 

They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait.'' 


YIRTUE    A   LIGHT   TO    HERSELF. 

Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 
By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and  moon 
Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk.  .  .  . 
He,  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast, 
May  sit  in  the  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  days: 
But  he  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  midday  sun  ; 
Himself  is  his  own  dungeon  ! 


1806-1844. 


THE   PENITENT. 

Stii.l  prayers  are  strong,  and  God  is  good ; 

Man  is  not  made  for  endless  ill ; 
Dear  sprite  !  my  soul's  tormented  mood 
Has  yet  a  hope  thou  canst  not  kill. 

Repentance  clothes  in  grass  and  flowers 
The  grave  in  which  the  past  is  laid  ; 

And  close  to  Faith's  old  minster  towers, 
The  Cross  lights  up  the  ghostly  shade. 

Around  its  foot  the  shapes  of  fear, 
Whose  eyes  my  weaker  heart  appal, 

As  sister  suppliants  thrill  the  ear 
With  cries  that  loud  for  mercy  call. 

(117) 


Jig  JOHT^    STEKLTXa. 

Thou,  God,  wilt  hear  !     Thy  pangs  are  meant 

To  heal  the  spirit,  not  destroy  ; 
And  what  may  seem  for  vengeance  sent, 

When  thou  commandest,  works  for  joy. 


DIVINE   DISCIPLINE   TOWARDS   MAN. 

Eternal  Mind !   creation's  Light  and  Lord ! 

Thou  trainest  man  to  love  Thy  perfect  will, 
By  love  to  know  Thy  truth's  obscurest  word. 

And  so  his  years  with  hallowed  life  to  fill  ; 
To  own  in  all  things  round  Thy  law's  accord, 

Which  bids  all  hope  be  strong  to  vanquish  ill  ; 
Illumined  thus  by  Thy  diffusive  ray. 
The  darkened  soul  and  world  are  bright  with  day. 

In  storm,  and  flood,  and  all  decays  of  time. 
In  hunger,  plagues,  and  man-devouring  war  ; 

In  all  the  boundless  tracts  of  inward  crime  — 
In  selfish  hates,  and  lusts  that  deepliest  mar, 

In  lazy  dreams  that  clog  each  task  sublime. 
In  loveless  doubts  of  truth's  unsetting  star  ; 

In  all  —  Thy  Spirit  will  not  cease  to  brood 

With  vital  strength,  unfolding  all  to  good. 

The  headlong  cataract  and  tempest  s  roar. 

The  rage  of  seas,  and  earthquake's  hoarse  dismay, 


JOHN    STERLING.  119 

The  crush  of  Empire,  sapped  by  tears  and  gore, 
And  shrieks  of  hearts  their  own  corruption's  prey  ; 

All  sounds  of  death  enforce  Thy  righteous  lore, 
In  smoothest  flow  Thy  being's  truth  obey, 

And,  heard  in  ears  from  passion's  witchery  free, 

One  endless  music  make  —  a  hymn  to  Thee  ! 

But  most,  O  God  !  the  inward  eyes  of  thought 
Discern  Thy  laws  in  all  that  works  within  ; 

The  conscious  will,  by  hard  experience  taught, 
Divines  Thy  mercy  shown  by  hate  of  sin  ; 

And  hearts  whose  peace   by  shame  and  grief  was 
bought, 
Thy  blessings  praise  that  first  in  wo  begin, 

For  still  on  earthly  pain's  tormented  ground. 

Thy  love's  immortal  flowers  and  fruits  abound. 

Fair  sight  it  is,  and  med'cinal  for  man, 

To  see  Thy  guidance  lead  the  human  breast ; 

In  life's  unopened  germ  behold  Thy  plan. 
Till  'mid  the  ripened  soul  it  stands  confest ; 

From  impulse  too  minute  for  us  to  scan, 

Awakening  sense  with  love  and  purpose  blest ; 

And  through  confusion,  error,  trial,  grief. 

Maturing  reason,  conscience,  calm  belief. 

This  to  have  known,  my  soul,  be  thankful  thou  !  — 
This  clear,  ideal  form  of  endless  good. 

Which  casts  around  the  adoring  learner's  brow 
The  ray  that  marks  man's  holiest  brotherhood ; 


120  JOHN    STERLING. 

Thus  e'en  from  guilt's  deep  curse  and  slavish  vow, 

And  dreams  whereby  the  light  was  long  withstood, 
Thee,  Lord  !  whose  mind  is  rule  supreme  to  all, 
Unveiled  we  see,  and  hail  Thy  wisdom's  call. 


THE  SOUL  DISCIPLINED  TO   SEE   GOD'S  WILL. 

Bold  is  the  life,  and  deep  and  vast  in  man  — 
A  flood  of  being  poured  unchecked  from  Thee! 

To  Thee  returned  by  Thy  unfailing  plan. 

When  tried  and  trained  Thy  will  unveiled  to  see. 

The  spirit  leaves  the  body's  wondrous  frame, 
That  frame  itself  a  world  of  strength  and  skill  ; 

The  nobler  inmate  new  abodes  will  claim, 
In  every  change  to  Thee  aspiring  still. 

Although  from  darkness  born,  to  darkness  fled. 
We  know  that  light  beyond  surrounds  the  whole ; 

The  man  survives,  though  the  weird-corpse  be  dead, 
And  He  who  dooms  the  flesh  redeems  the  soul. 


1779-1849. 


THE   PERPETUAL   RELIGION. 

E-ELiGioNS  —  from  the  soul  deriving  breath,  -~ 

Should  know  no  death  ; 
Yet  do  they  perish,  mingling  their  remains 

With  fallen  fanes  ; 
Creeds,  canons,  dogmas,  councils,  are  the  wrecked 
And  mouldering  Masonry  of  Intellect.  — 

Apis,  Osiris,  paramount  of  yore 

On  Egypt's  shore,  — 
Woden  and  Thor,  through  the  wide  North  adored, 

With  blood  outpoured, — 
Jove  and  the  multiform  divinities, 
To  whom  the  Pagan  nations  bowed  their  knees,— 

(131) 


122  HORACE    SMITH. 

Lo  !  they  are  cast  aside,  dethroned,  forlorn. 

Defaced,  out-worn, 
Like  the  world's  childish  dolls,  which  but  insult 

Its  age  adult. 
Or  prostrate  scarecrows,  on  whose  rags  we  tread 
With  scorn  proportioned  to  our  former  dread. 

Alas  for  human  reason  !  all  is  change, 

Ceaseless  and  strange  . 
All  ages  form  new  systems,  leaving  heirs 

To  cancel  theirs ; 
The  future  will  but  imitate  the  past ; 
And  instability  alone  will  last. 

Is  there  no  compass,  then,  by  which  to  steer 

This  erring  sphere  ? 
No  tie  that  may  indissolubly  bind 

To  God,  mankind? 
No  code  that  may  defy  Time's  sharpest  tooth  1 
No  fixed,  immutable,  unerring  truth  ? 

There  is  !  there  is  !  One  primitive  and  sure, 

Religion  pure. 
Unchanged  in  spirit,  though  its  forms  and  codes 

Wear  myriad  modes. 
Contains  all  creeds  within  its  mighty  span  : 
The  love  of  God  displayed  in  love  of  man. 

This  is  the  Christian's  faith  when  rightly  read ; 
Oh  !  may  it  spread, 


HORACE    SMITH.  123 


Till  earth  redeemed  from  every  hateful  leaven 

Makes  peace  with  Heaven  ; 
Below  one  blessed  brotherhood  of  love, 
One  Father  —  worshipped  with  one  voice  —  above ! 


A  PRAYER. 


Father  and  God  !  whose  love  and  might 
To  every  sense  are  blazoned  bright 

On  the  vast  three-leaved  Bible  —  earth 
Pardon  th'  impugners  of  Thy  laws, 
Expand  their  hearts,  and  give  them  cause 

To  bless  th'  exhaustless  grace  they  now  deny 


sea —  si 


THE   QUARREL   OP   FAITH,  HOPE,  AND    CHARITY 

Once  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  traversed  the  land 
In  sisterhood's  uninterrupted  embraces. 

Performing  their  office  of  love  hand  in  hand,  — 
Of  the    whole   Christian    world,  the    appropriate 
Graces. 

But  tiffs,  since  those  primitive  days,  have  occurred, 
That  threaten  to  sever  this  friendly  relation. 

As  may  well  be  surmised  when  I  state  word  for  word, 
The  terms  of  their  latest  and  worst  altercation, 
9 


124  HORACE    SMITH. 

''  Sister  Charity,  prythee  allow  me  to  state," 

Cries  Faith,  in  a  tone  of  contemptuous  sneering, 

'*  That  while  you  affect  to  be  meek  and  sedate, 
Your  conduct  is  cunning,  your  tone  domineering. 

"  In  the  times  that  are  gone  my  world-harassing  name 
"  Received  some  accession  of  strength  every  hour  ; 

"  St.  Bartholomew's  Massacre  hallowed  my  fame, 
"  And  Sicily's  Vespers  asserted  my  power. 

"  When  martyrs  in  multitudes  rushed  at  my  call, 
"  To  peril  their  lives  for  Theology's  sake, 

"  Mine  too  was  the  voice  that  cried  '  Sacrifice  all, 
" '  With   gaol    and    with    gibbet,    with    faggot    and 
stake.' 

"  When  the  banner  of  orthodox  slaughter  was  furled, 
"  And  subjects  no  more  from  each  other  dissented, 

"  1  set  them  at  war  with  the  rest  of  the  world, 
"  And  for  centuries  national  struggles  fomented. 

"  What  are  all  the  great  heroes  on  history's  page, 
"  But  puppets  who  figured  as  I  pulled  the  strings? 

"  Crusades  I  engendered  in  every  age, 

"  And  Faith  was  the  leader  of  armies  and  kings. 

"  In  those  days  of  my  glory  Hope  followed  my  track, 

"  In  warfare  a  firm  and  impartial  ally, 
*'  For  she  constantly  patted  both  sides  on  the  back, 

"  And  promised  them  both  a  reward  in  the  sky." 


HORACE    SMITH.  125 

Here  Charity,  heaving  disconsolate  sighs, 
That  said  "  I  admit  what  I  deeply  deplore," 

Uplifted  to  heaven  her  tear-sufFused  eyes. 

Which  seemed  but  to  anger  her  sister  the  more. 

*'  Nay,  none  of  your  cant,  hypocritical  minx !  " 
She  cried  in  a  louder  and  bitterer  tone, 

"  If  you  feel  any  fancy  to  whimper,  methinks 

"  You  might  weep  that  the  days  of  my  glory  are 
gone. 

"  What  wreck  of  my  palmy  puissance  is  left? 

"  What  bravos  and  bullies  my  greatness  declare? 
"  Of  the  holy  and  dear  Inquisition  bereft, 

"  All  my  fierce  fulminations  are  impotent  air  !  "  .  .  . 

With  the  look  of  an  angel,  the  voice  of  a  dove. 
Thus  Charity  answered  —  "  Since  Concord  alone 

"  Can  prosper  our  partnership  mission  of  love 
'*  And  exalt  the  attraction  that  calls  her  her  own, 

"  I  would  not,  dear  sisters,  e'en  harbor  a  thought 
''  That  might  peril  a  friendship  so  truly  divine ; 

"  And  if  in  our  feelings  a  change  has  been  wrought, 
"  I  humbly  submit  that  the  change  is  not  mine 


"  But  now  when  men,  turning  from  dogmas  to  deeds, 
"  Bear  the  scriptural  dictum  of  Jesus  in  mind, 

**  That  salvation  depends  not  on  canons  and  creeds, 
*'  But  on  love  of  the  Lord  and  the  love  of  our  kind, 


126  HORACE    SMITH. 

"  My  voice  can  be  heard,  and  my  arguments  weighed, 
"  Which  explains  why  such  numerous  converts  of 
late 

"  Are  under  my  love-breathing  standard  arrayed, 
"  Who  once,  beneath  yours,  were  excited  to  hate. 

"  Superstition  must  throw  off  Religion's  disguise  ; 

"  For  men,  now  enlightened,  not  darkling,  like  owls, 
*•  While  they  reverence  priests  who  are  holy  and  wise, 

"  Will  no  longer  be  hoodwinked  by  cassocks  or 
cowls. 

*'  If,  sisters  !  forgetting  your  primitive  troth, 

"  You  would  still  part  the  world  into  tyrants  and 
slaves, 

"  What  wonder  that  sages  should  look  on  you  both 
"  As  the  virtues  of  dupes  for  the  profits  of  knaves  ? 

"  You   would   separate  1      Do   so  —  I   give   you   full 
scope ; 
"  But  reflect,  you  are  both  of  you  nought  when  we 
part ; 
"  While   I,  'tis  well    known,  can    supply  Faith    and 
Hope, 
"  When  I  choose  for  my  temple  an  innocent  heart." 


HORACE    SMITH.  127 


MORAL  ALCHE^rY. 


The  toils  of  Alchemists,  whose  vain  pursuit 

Sought  to  transmute 

Dross  into  gold,  —  their  secrets  and  their  store 
Of  mystic  lore, 

What  to  the  jibing  modern  do  they  seem? 

An  ignis  fatuus  chase,  a  phantasy,  a  dream !  — 

Yet  for  enlightened  moral  Alchemists 

There  still  exists 

A  philosophic  stone,  whose  magic  spell 

No  tongue  may  tell, 

Which  renovates  the  soul's  decaying  health, 

And  what  it  touches  turns  to  purest  mental  wealth. 

This  secret  is  revealed  in  every  trace 

Of  Nature's  face, 

Whose  seeming  frown  invariably  tends 

To  smiling  ends. 

Transmuting  ills  into  their  opposite. 

And  all  that  shocks  the  sense  to  subsequent  delight.— 

Seems  Earth  unlovely  in  her  robe  of  snow  1 
Then  look  below, 

Where  Nature  in  her  subterranean  Ark, 

Silent  and  dark, 

Already  has  each  floral  germ  unfurled 

That  shall  revive  and  clothe  the  dead  and  naked  world. 
9* 


128  HORACE    SMITH. 

Behold  those  perished  flowers  to  earth  consigned  — 
They,  like  mankind, 

Seek  in  their  grave  new  birth.  By  nature's  power, 
Each  in  its  hour, 

Clothed  in  new  beauty,  from  its  tomb  shall  spring, 

And  from  its  tube  or  chalice  heavenward  incense  fling. 

Laboratories  of  a  wider  fold 

I  now  behold, 
Where  are  prepared  the  harvests  yet  unborn 

Of  wine,  oil,  corn.  — 
In  those  mute  rayless  banquet  halls  I  see 
Myriads  of  coming  feasts  with  all  their  revelry.  — 

Yon  teeming  and  minuter  cells  enclose 

The  embryos 
Of  fruits  and  seeds,  food  for  the  feathered  race. 

Whose  chanted  grace. 
Swelling  in  choral  gratitude  on  high. 
Shall  with  thanksgiving  anthems  melodize  the  sky. — 

And  what  materials,  mystic  Alchemist ! 

Dost  Thou  enlist 
To  fabricate  this  ever-varied  feast, 

For  man,  bird,  beast? 
Whence  the  life,  plenty,  music,  beauty,  bloom  ? 
From    silence,    languor,    death,    unsightliness,    and 
gloom  !  — 


HORACE    SMITH.  129 

From  Nature's  magic  hand,  whose  touch  makes  sadness 
Eventual  gladness, 

The  reverent  moral  Alchemist  may  learn 
The  art  to  turn 

Fate's  roughest,  hardest,  most  forbidding  dross, 

Into  the  mental  gold  that  knows  not  change  or  loss. — 

Lose  we  a  valued  friend  ? —  To  soothe  our  woe 

Let  us  bestow 
On  those  who  still  survive  an  added  love, 

So  shall  we  prove, 
Howe'er  the  dear  departed  we  deplore, 
In    friendship's    sum     and    substance    no   diminished 
store.  — 

Lose  we  our  health?  —  Now  may  we  fully  know 
What  thanks  we  owe 

For  our  sane  years,  perchance  of  lengthened  scope  : 
Now  does  our  hope 

Point  to  the  day  when  sickness,  taking  flight. 

Shall  make  us  better  feel  health's  exquisite  delight.'  — 

In  losing  fortune,  many  a  lucky  elf 

Has  found  himself.  — 

As  all  our  moral  bitters  are  designed 

To  brace  the  mind. 

And  renovate  its  healthy  tone,  the  wise 

Their  sorest  trials  hail  as  blessings  in  disguise. 


130  HORACE   SMITH. 

There  is  no  gloom  on  earth  ;  for  God  above 
Chastens  in  love, 

Transmuting  sorrows  into  golden  joy 

Free  from  alloy. 

His  dearest  attribute  is  still  to  bless, 

And  man's  most  welcome  hymn  is  grateful  cheerful- 
ness. 


THE   HEART'S    SANCTUARY. 

For  man  there  still  is  left  one  sacred  charter ; 

One  refuge  still  remains  for  human  woes. 
Victim  of  care  !  or  persecution's  martyr  1 

Who  seek' St  a  sure  asylum  from  thy  foes, 
Learn  that  tl:e  holiest,  safest,  purest,  best, 
Is  man's  own  breast. 

There,  is  a  solemn  sanctuary  founded 
By  God  himself;  not  for  transgressors  meant; 

But  that  the  man  oppressed,  the  spirit  wounded. 
And  all  beneath  the  world's  injustice  bent. 

Might  turn  from  outward  wrong,  turmoil  and  din, 
To  peace  within  ! 


1786-1853. 


THE   DEPARTED    SPIRIT. 

He  has  gone  to  his  God ;  he  has  gone  to  his  home. 
No  more  amid  peril  and  error  to  roam  ; 
His  eyes  are  no  longer  dim  ; 

His  feet  will  no  more  falter  ; 
No  grief  can  follow  him  ; 
No  pang  his  cheek  can  alter. 

There  are  paleness,  and  weeping,  and  sighs  below ; 
For  our  faith  is  faint,  and  our  tears  will  flow  ; 
But  the  harps  of  heaven  are  ringing  ; 

Glad  angels  come  to  greet  him, 
And  hymns  of  joy  are  singing, 

While  old  friends  press  to  meet  him. 

O  !  honored,  beloved,  to  earth  unconfined, 
Thou  hast  soared  on  high,  thou  hast  left  us  behind. 

131 


132  A2f DREWS    XORTOX. 

But  our  parting  is  not  forever, 

We  will  follow  thee  by  heaven's  light 

Where  the  grave  cannot  dissever 
The  souls  whom  God  will  unite. 


SUBJ^nSSION. 


My  God,  I  thank  Thee !  may  no  thought 
E'er  deem  Thy  chastisement  severe ; 

But  may  this  heart,  by  sorrow  taught. 
Calm  each  wild  wish,  each  idle  fear. 

Thy  mercy  bids  all  nature  bloom  ; 

The  sun  shines  bright,  and  man  is  gay  ; 
Thine  equal  mercy  spreads  the  gloom, 

That  darkens  o'er  his  little  day. 

Full  many  a  throb  of  grief  and  pain 
Thy  frail  and  erring  child  must  know ; 

But  not  one  prayer  is  breathed  in  vain, 
Nor  does  one  tear  unheeded  flow. 

Thy  various  messengers  employ  ; 

Thy  purposes  of  love  fulfil ; 
And  'mid  the  wreck  of  human  joy, 

Let  kneeling  Faith  adore  Thy  will. 


ANDREWS    NORTON.  I33 

ON   A   FRIEND'S   DEATH. 

Dost  thou,  amid  the  rapturous  glow 

With  which  thy  soul  her  welcome  hears, 

Dost  thou  still  think  of  us  below, 
Of  earthly  scenes,  of  human  tears? 

Perhaps  e'en  now  thy  thoughts  return 
To  when  in  summer's  moonlight  walk, 

Of  all  that  now  is  thine  to  learn, 
We  framed  no  light  or  fruitless  talk. 

How  vivid  still  past  scenes  appear  ! 

I  feel  as  though  all  were  not  o'er  ; 
As  though  'twere  strange  I  cannot  hear 

Thy  voice  of  friendship  yet  once  more. 

We  meet  again  !  —  A  little  while, 

And  where  thou  art  1  too  shall  be  ; 
And  then,  with  what  an  angel  smile 

Of  gladness,  thou  wilt  welcome  me. 


ifi^  i0tormg» 


MATINS   ANP   VESPERS. 
I. 

Lord  !  when  I  seek  Thy  face,  I  feel 
I  am  but  dust —  the  sprinkled  dew 
Of  morning.     But  the  towering  will 
That  soars  to  heaven,  is  heavenly  still  — 
And  man,  though  clay,  is  sjnrit  too. 

Yes  !  I  can  feel -that,  though  a  clod 
Of  the  dark  vale,  there  is  a  sense 
Of  better  things  — the  fit  abode 
Of  something  tending  up  to  God  — 
A  germ  of  pure  intelligence. 

I  know  not  how  the  Eternal  hand 

Has  moulded  man — but  this  I  know, 

That  whilst  'mid  earth's  strange  scenes  I  stand, 

Bright  visions  of  a  better  land 

Go  with  me  still,  where'er  I  go. 

134 


JOHN    BOWRING.  135 

And  surely  dreams  so  pure,  so  sweet. 
Friendly  to  hope  and  joy  and  worth, 
Are  not  the  phantoms  of  deceit, 
Delusions  sent  to  blind,  to  cheat 
The  weary^  wandering  sons  of  earth. 

My  God  !  we  are  Thine  offspring  —  time 
Is  but  our  infancy  —  the  earth 
Our  cradle  —  but  our  home  's  a  clime 
Eternal,  sorrowless,  sublime  — 
Heaven  is  the  country  of  our  birth  I 

II. 

Why  should  we  fear  ?  waking  or  sleeping, 
Man  is  alike  in  Thy  holy  keeping, 
Let  him  not  shrink  though  his  bark  be  driven 
By  the  rude  storm  —  let  nought  alarm  him ; 
The  tempest  may  burst,  but  cannot  harm  him 
Safely  he  steers  to  his  port  in  heaven. 
God  is  around  us,  o'er  us,  near  us, 
What  have  his  children  then  to  fear  ? 
Is  He  not  always  present  to  hear  us, 
Willing  to  grant,  as  willing  to  hear? 


m. 

My  God!  my  Father !  on  Thee  will  I  rest  — 
Rest  with  unbounded  confidence  on  Thee  ; 
No  slavish  fears  shall  now  inthrall  my  breast ; 


136  JOHN    BO  WRING. 

I  Stand  erect  in  holiest  liberty. 
Thou  dwell'st  in  light  unsearchable  —  and  here 
Thy  children  in  a  night  of  darkness  roam ; 
But  earth  shall  not  detain  the  wanderer ; 
Heaven  is  his  destiny,  and  heaven  his  home. 
There  peace  and  love,  in  holiest  union  bound, 
Shall  gild  with  everlasting  smiles  the  scene. 
And  God's  pure  presence,  scattering  light  around, 
Fill  every  heart  with  joy  and  bliss  serene. 

IV. 

Man's  hopes  and  fears  may  seem  confined,  to  him 

Whose  vision  stretches  not  o'er  mortal  things ; 

But  the  most  distant  star's  invisible  beam, 

Or  comet,  in  his  farthest  journeyings. 

Or  all  the  extent  which  philosophic  ken 

Has  given  to  infinite  space,  —  th'  elastic  soul 

Springs  over  !     These,  and  more  than  these,  in  vain 

Her  free  and  untried  wanderings  would  control. 

At  will,  she  travels  on  from  sun  to  sun  — 

System  to  system  —  peoples  as  she  flies 

Unnumbered  stars  —  an  all-creating  one  ' 

Dives  into  nature's  deepest  mysteries ; 

Unlocks  the  gates  of  death,  and  holds  communion 

With  spirits  of  the  just ;   and  yet  this  spajk. 

So  bright  and  beautiful,  is  held  in  union 

With  mortal  clay; —  unintellectual,  dark, — 

And  seems  to  perish.     It  can  perish  never  ! 

Born  of  the  heavens,  again  to  heaven  it  speeds 


JOHN    BOWRING.  .     I37 

To  dwell  in  its  own  home  —  to  shine  forever, 
Divested  of  its  dull  and  mortal  weeds ' 


From  the  recesses  of  a  lowly  spirit  , 

My  humble  prayer  ascends  —  O  Father!  hear  it: 
Upsoaring  on  the  wings  of  fear  and  meekness, 
Forgive  its  weakness. 

I  know,  I  feel,  how  mean  and  how  unworthy 
The  trembling  sacrifice  I  pour  before  Thee  ; 
What  can  I  offer  in  Thy  presence  holy, 
But  sin  and  folly  ? 

For  in  Thy  sight,  who  every  bosom  viewest, 
Cold  are  our  warmest  vows,  and  vain  our  truest ; 
Thoughts  of  a  hurrying  hour,  our  lips  repeat  them. 
Our  hearts  forget  them. 

We  see  Thy  hand  —  it  leads  us,  it  supports  us  ; 
We  hear  Thy  voice  —  it  counsels  and  it  courts  us  ; 
And  then  we  turn  away  —  and  still  Thy  kindness 
Pardons  our  blindness. 

And  still  Thy  rain  descends,  Thy  sun  is  glowing. 
Fruits  ripen  round,  flowers  are  beneath  us  blowing, 
And,  as  if  man  were  some  deserving  creature, 
Joys  cover  nature. 


138  JOHN    BOWEIXG. 

O,  how  long-suffering,  Lord  !  but  Thou  delightest 
To  win  with  love  the  wandering  —  Thou  invitest, 
By  smiles  of  mercy,  not  by  frowns  or  terrors, 
Man  from  his  errors. 

Who  can  resist  Thy  gentle  call,  appealing 
To  every  generous  thought,  and  grateful  feeling  ? 
That  voice  paternal,  whispering,  watching  ever 
My  bosom  1  —  never. 

Father  and  Saviour  !  plant  within  that  bosom 
These  seeds  of  holiness,  and  bid  them  blossom 
In  fragrance  and  in  beauty  bright  and  vernal, 
And  spring  eternal. 

Then  place  them  in  those  everlasting  gardens, 
Where  angels  walk,  and  seraphs  are  the  wardens  ; 
Where  every  flower  that  creeps  through  death's  dark 

portal 
Becomes  immortal. 


THE  BEAUTIES    OF   CREATION. 

Ours  is  a  lovely  world  !  how  fair 
Thy  beauties,  even  on  earth,  appear ' 

The  seasons  in  their  courses  fall. 
And  bring  successive  joys  :  the  sea, 
The  earth,  the  sky,  are  full  of  ihee. 

Benignant,  glorious  Lord  of  All. 


JOHN    BOWRING.  139 

There's  beauty  in  the  break  of  day ; 
There's  glory  in  the  noon-tide  ray ; 

There's  sweetness  in  the  twilight  shades  ;  — 
Magnificence  in  night :  thy  love 
Arched  the  grand  heaven  of  blue  above, 

And  all  our  smiling  earth  pervades. 

And  if  thy  glories  here  be  found 
Streaming  with  radiance  all  around, 

What  must  the  fount  of  glory  be  ? 
In  Thee  we'll  hope, —  in  Thee  confide. 
Thou  mercy's  never-ebbing  tide  ! 

Thou  love's  unfathomable  sea. ! 


UNDEVELOPED   GOOD. 

There  is  in  every  human  heart 
Some  not  completely  barren  part, 
Where  seeds  of  truth  and  love  might  grow, 
And  flowers  of  generous  virtue  blow : 
To  plant,  to  watch,  to  water  there  — 
This,  as  our  duty,  be  our  care  ! 

Hast  thou  e'er  seen  a  garden  clad 

In  all  the  robes  that  Eden  had  — 

Or  vale  o'erspread  with  streams  and  trees, 

A  paradise  of  mysteries  — 

Plains  with  green  hills  adorning  them, 

Like  jewels  in  a  diadem  ? 


140  JOHN   BOWRIXG. 

These  gardens,  vales,  and  plains,  and  hillj 
Which  beauty  gilds  and  music  fills. 
Were  once  but  deserts  ;  —  culture's  hand 
Has  scattered  verdure  o'er  the  land, 
And  smiles  and  fragrance  rule  serene. 
Where  barren  wilds  usurped  the  scene. 

And  such  is  man.     A  soil  which  breeds 
Or  sweetest  flowers  or  vilest  weeds ; 
Flowers  lovely  as  the  morning's  light, 
Weeds  deadly  as  the  aconite  ; 
Just  as  his  heart  is  trained  to  bear 
The  poisonous  weed,  or  flow'ret  fair. 

Thy  outcast  brother's  blackest  crime 
May,  in  his  Maker's  eye  sublime. 
In  spite  of  all  thy  pride,  be  less 
Than  e'en  thy  daily  waywardness ; 
Than  many  a  sin  and  many  a  stain 
Forgotten  —  and  impressed  again. 


DESTINY   OF  THE   SOUL. 

FROM   THE   RUSSIAN    OF   DERZHAVINE. 


The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me  ; 

In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost. 
And  the  next  step  is  spirit, —  deity  ! 

I  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dust! 


»  JOHN    BOWKING.  141 

A  monarch,  and  a  slave  !  a  worm,  a  god  ! 

Whence  came  I  here,  and  how  1  so  marvellously 
Constructed  and  conceived  !  unknown  ?  this  clod 

Lives  surely  through  some  higher  energy, 

For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be  ! 

Creator,  yes  !  Thy  wisdom  and  Thy  word 
Created  me,  Thou  source  of  life  and  good ! 

Thou  Spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord ! 

Thy  light,  Thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude, 

Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 

The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 

Its  heavenly  mgni  oeyona  this  little  sphere, 

Even  to  its  source,  —  to  Thee  —  its  Author  there 


1810. 


PKOM   "IN   MEMORIAM" 
1. 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 

Believing  wiiere  we  cannot  prove: 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade  ; 

Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute ; 

Thou  madest  Death  ;  and  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die  ; 

And  Thou  hast  made  him  ;  Thou  art  just. 

142 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  143 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 

The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  Thou  : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day  ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be  . 

They  are  but  broken  lights  of  Thee, 
And  Thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

We  have  but  faith  ;  we  cannot  know  : 
For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see  ; 
And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  Thee, 

A  beam  in  darkness :  let  it  grow. 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell  ; 
That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 

May  make  one  music  as  before. 

But  vaster.     We  are  fools  and  slight ; 

We  mock  Thee  when  we  do  not  fear  • 
But  help  Thy  foolish  ones  to  bear ; 

Help  thy  vain  worlds  to  bear  Thy  light. 

Forgive  what  seemed  my  sin  in  me  ; 

What  seemed  my  worth  since  I  began : 
For  merit  lives  from  man  to  man. 

And  not  from  man,  O  Lord,  to  Thee. 


144  ALFRED    TEXNTSON. 

Forgive  my  grief  for  one  removed, 

Thy  creature,  whom  I  found  so  fair, 
I  trust  he  lives  in  Thee,  and  there 

I  find  him  worthier  to  be  loved. 

Forgive  these  wild  and  wandering  cries, 
Confusions  of  a  wasted  youth  ; 
Forgive  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 

And  in  Thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 


11. 


O,  YET  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood  ; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete  ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain, 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire. 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold !  we  know  not  any  thing ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  145 


At  last, —  far  off,  —  at  last,  to  all, 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 


ni. 


O  THOU  that  after  toil  and  storm 

May'st  seem  to  have  reached  a  purer  air^ 
Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere, 

Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form, — 

Leave  thou  thy  sister,  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  heaven,  her  happy  views  ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadowed  hint  confuse 

A  life  that  leads  melodious  days. 

Her  faith  through  form  is  pure  as  thine, 
Her  hands  are  quicker  unto  good. 
Oh,  sacred  be  the  flesh  and  blood 

To  which  she  links  a  truth  divine! 

See  thou,  that  countest  reason  ripe 
In  holding  by  the  law  within, 
Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin. 

And  even  for  want  of  such  a  type. 


146  ALFRET>   TEXITTSOH, 

IV 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky> 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light ; 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new. 

Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow : 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go  : 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mmd, 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more  ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause, 

And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife  ; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin, 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times : 
Ring  out,  ring  out  ray  mournful  rhymes. 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood, 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  147 

Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 
Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease, 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold; 
Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old, 

Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  laiiaiii  man  aim  iree, 

The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land. 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  he. 


1771. 


MAN   IMMORTAL. 

Man,  to  this  narrow  sphere  confined, 
Dies  when  he  but  begins  to  live. 
Oh!  if  there  be  no  world  on  high 
To  yield  his  powers  unfettered  scope ; 
If  man  be  only  born  to  die, 
Whence  this  inheritance  of  hope? 
Wherefore  to  him  alone  were  lent 
Riches  that  never  can  be  spent  ? 
Enough,  not  more,  to  all  the  rest. 
For  life  and  happiness,  was  given ; 
To  man,  mysteriously  unblest. 
Too  much  for  "any  state  but  heaven. 

It  is  not  thus  ;  —  it  cannot  be. 
That  one  so  gloriously  endowed 

148 


JAMES    MOXTGOMERY.  149 

With  views  that  reach  eternity, 
Should  shine  and  vanish  like  a  cloud : 
Is  there  a  God  ?     All  nature  shows 
There  is,  —  and  yet  no  mortal  knows  . 
The  mind  that  could  this  truth  conceive, 
Which  brute  sensation  never  taught, 
No  longer  to  the  dust  would  cleave, 
But  grow  immortal  with  the  thought. 


TO   ONE   IN   AFFLICTION. 

Lift  up  thine  eyes,  afflicted  soul ' 

From  earth  lift  up  thine  eyes, 
Though  dark  the  evening  shadows  roll, 

And  daylight  beauty  dies  ; 
One  sun  is  set,  a  thousand  more 

Their  rounds  of  glory  run, 
Where  science  lends  thee  to  explore 

In  every  star  a  sun. 

Thus  when  some  long  loved  comfort  ends, 

And  nature  would  despair. 
Faith  to  the  heaven  of  heaven  ascends, 

And  meets  ten  thousand  there  ; 
First  faint  and  small,  then  clear  and  bright, 

They  gladden  all  the  gloom, 
And  stars,  that  seem  but  points  of  light. 

The  rank  of  suns  assume. 


150  JAMES   MONTGOMEKY. 

DE  PROFUNDI^. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  woe 

To  Thee,  O  Lord  !  I  cry  ; 
Darkness  surrounds  me,  but  I  know 

That  Thou  art  ever  nigh 

Then  hearken  to  my  voice  , 

Give  ear  to  my  complaint ; 
Thou  bid'st  the  mourning  soul  rejcifctj 

Thou  com  for  test  the  faint. 

I  cast  my  hope  on  Thee  ; 

Thou  can'st,  Thou  wilt,  forgive ; 
Wert  Thou  to  mark  iniquity, 

Who  in  Thy  sight  could  live  ? 

Humbly  on  Thee  I  wait, 

Confessing  all  my  sin  : 
Lord  !  I  am  knocking  at  Thy  gate ; 

Open,  and  take  me  in ! 

Like  those,  whose  longing  eyes 

Watch,  till  the  morning  star 
(Though  late,  and  seen  through  tempests)  rise, 

Heaven's  portals  to  unbar, — 

Like  those  I  watch  and  pray, 

And,  though  it  tarry  long. 
Catch  the  first  gleam  of  welcome  day, 

Then  burst  into  a  song. 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  151 

Glory  to  God  above ! 

The  waters  soon  will  cease : 
For,  lo  !  the  swift  returning  dove 

Brings  home  the  sign  of  peace. 

Though  storms  His  face  obscure, 

And  dangers  threaten  loud, 
Jehovah's  covenant  is  sure, 

His  bow  is  in  the  cloud  ! 


THE  SOUL'S  IMMORTAL   ORIGIN. 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found  ; 
And  while  the  mouldering  ashes  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground, 

The  soul,  of  origin  divine, 
God's  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine 
A  star  of  day. 

The  Sun  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 
A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky  ; 
The  Soul,  immortal  as  its  Sire, 
Shall  never  die. 
11* 


152  JAMES    MOXTGOMERY. 


FOREVER   WITH    THE    LORD. 

"  Forever  with  the  Lord  !  " 

Amen.     So  let  it  be  ! 
Life  for  the  dead  is  in  that  word, 

'Tis  immortality. 
Here  in  the  body  pent, 

Absent  from  Him  I  roam  ; 
Yet  nightly  pitch  my  moving  tent 

A  day's  march  nearer  home. 

My  Father's  house  on  high  ! 

Home  of  my  soul  !  how  near, 
At  times,  to  Faith's  aspiring  eye, 

Thy  golden  gates  appear ! 
Ah,  then  my  spirit  faints. 

To  reach  the  land  I  love  ; 
The  bright  inheritance  of  saints, 

Jerusalem  above. 

Yet  doubts  still  intervene, 

And  all  my  comfort  flies ; 
Like  Noah's  dove,  I  flit  between 

Rough  seas  and  stormy  skies. 
Anon  the  clouds  depart, 

The  winds  and  waters  cease ; 
While  sweetly  o'er  my  gladdened  heart, 

Expands  the  bow  of  peace. 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  153 

"  Forever  with  the  Lord  !  " 

Father,  if  'tis  Thy  will, 
The  promise  of  Thy  gracious  word, 

E'en  here  to  me  fulfil. 
Be  Thou  at  my  right  hand, 

So  shall  I  never  fail  : 
Uphold  me,  and  1  needs  must  stand  ; 

Fight,  and  I  must  prevail. 

So,  when  my  latest  breath 

Shall  rend  the  vail  in  twain, 
By  death  I  shall  escape  from  death> 

And  life  eternal  gain. 
Knowing  "  as  I  am  known." 

How  shall  I  love  that  word, 
And  oft  repeat  before  the  throne, 

"  Forever  with  the  Lord  !  ** 


1774-1843. 


THE    DEAD  FRIEND. 

Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul. 

Descend  to  contemplate 

The  form  that  once  was  dear  ! 

The  spirit  is  not  there 
Which  kindled  that  dead  eye, 
Which  throbbed  in  that  cold  heart, 
Which  in  that  motionless  hand 
Hath  met  thy  friendly  grasp. 
The  spirit  is  not  there  ! 
It  is  but  lifeless,  perishable  flesh 
That  moulders  in  the  grave  ; 
Earth,  air,  and  water's  ministering  particles, 
Now  to  the  elements 
Resolved,  their  uses  done. 
Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul, 
Follow  thy  friend  beloved  ; 
The  spirit  is  not  there  ! 

154 


ROBERT    SOUTHET.  155 

Oftep  together  have  we  talked  of  death ; 
How  sweet  it  were  to  see 
All  doubtful  things  made  clear  ! 
How  sweet  it  were  with  powers 

Such  as  the  cherubim 
To  view  the  depth  of  heaven  ! 
O,  Edmund  !  thou  hast  first 
Begun  the  travel  of  eternity  ! 

I  look  upon  the  stars, 
And  think  that  thou  art  there, 
Unfettered  as  the  thought  that  follows  thee. 

And  we  have  often  said  how  sweet  it  were. 

With  unseen  ministry  of  angel  power, 
To  watch  the  friends  we  loved. 
Edmund !  we  did  not  err  ! 
Sure  I  h^ve  felt  thy  presence !     Thou  hast  given 

A  birth  to  holy  thought, 
Hast  kept  me  from  the  world  unstained  and  pure. 
Edmund  !  we  did  not  err  ! 
Our  best  affections  here 
They  are  not  like  the  toys  of  infancy  ; 
The  soul  outgrows  them  not ; 
We  do  not  cast  them  off; 
O,  if  it  could  be  so, 
It  were,  indeed,  a  dreadful  thing  to  die  ! 

Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul. 
Follow  thy  friend  beloved  ! 
But  in  the  lonely  hour. 


156  EGBERT    SOUTHET. 

But  in  the  evening  walk, 
Think  that  he  companies  thy  solitude  : 
Think  that  he  holds  with  thee 

Mysterious  intercourse  ; 
And,  though  remembrance  wake  a  c 

There  will  be  joy  in  grief. 


x$.  ^mim*  \ 


THERE  IS  A  TONGUE  IN  EVERY  LEAF. 

There  is  a  tongue  in  every  leaf, 

A  voice  in  every  rill  ; 
A  voice  that  speaketh  everywhere, 
In  flood  and  fire,  through  earth  and  air' 

A  tongue  that's  never  still. 

'Tis  the  Great  Spirit  wide  diffused 

Through  everything  we  see, 
That  with  our  spirits  communeth 
Of  things  mysterious  —  Life  and  Death, 

Time  and  Eternity ! 

I  see  Him  in  the  blazing  sun, 

And  in  the  thunder-cloud  : 
I  hear  Him  in  the  mighty  roar, 
That  rusheth  through  the  forest  hoar, 

When  winds  are  piping  loud. 


MRS.    SOUTHET.  157 

I  see  Him,  hear  Him,  everywhere^ 

In  all  things  —  darkness,  light, 
Silence,  and  sound ;  but  most  of  all, 
When  slumber's  dusky  curtains  fall. 

At  the  dead  hour  of  night. 

T  feel  Him  in  the  silent  dews. 

By  grateful  earth  betrayed  ; 
I  feel  Him  in  the  gentle  showers. 
The  soft  south  wind,  the  breath  of  flowers, 

The  sunshine  and  'the  shade. 

And  yet  (ungrateful  that  I  am), 

I've  turned  in  sullen  mood 
From  all  these  things,  whereof  He  said, 
When  the  great  whole  was  finished, 

That  they  were  "  very  good." 

My  sadness  on  the  loveliest  things 

Fell  like  unwholesome  dew  ; 
The  darkness  that  encompassed  me, 
The  gloom  I  felt  so  palpably. 

Mine  own  dark  spirit  threw. 

Yet  was  He  patient  —  slow  to  wrath. 

Though  every  day  provoked 
By  selfish,  pining  discontent. 
Acceptance  cold  or  negligent, 

And  promises  revoked ; 


158  MKS.    SOUTHEY. 

And  still  the  same  rich  feast  was  spread 

For  my  insensate  heart ! 
Not  always  so  —  I  woke  again 
To  join  Creation's  rapturous  strain, 

"  O  Lord,  how  good  Thou  art." 

The  clouds  drew  up,  the  shadows  fled 

The  glorious  sun  broke  out, 
And  love,  and  hope,  and  gratitude, 
Dispelled  that  miserable  mood 
Of  darkness  and  of  doubt. 


THE   PAUPER'S  DEATH-BED. 

Tread  softly  —  bow  the  head  — 
In  reverent  silence  bow  — 

No  passing  bell  doth  toll  — 

Yet  an  immortal  soul 
Is  passing  now. 

Stranger !  however  great. 

With  holy  reverence  bow  ; 
There's  one  in  that  poor  shed  — 
One  by  that  paltry  bed  — 
Greater  than  thou. 

Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo  !  death  doth  keep  his  state  ; 


MRS.    SOUTHET.  159 

Enter  —  no  crowds  attend  — 
Enter — no  guards  defend 
This  palace  gate. 

That  pavement,  damp  and  cold. 

No  smiling  courtiers  tread  : 
One  silent  woman  stands, 
Lifting,  with  meagre  hands, 

A  dying  head. 

No  mingling  voices  sound  — 

An  infant  wail  alone ; 
A  sob  suppressed  —  again 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  and  then 

The  parting  groan. 

Oh!  change  —  Oh!  wondrous  change  — 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars  — 
This  moment,  there,  so  low. 
So  agonized,  and  now 

Beyond  the  stars ! 

Oh  !  change  —  stupendous  change  I 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod ; 
The  Sun  eternal  breaks  — 
The  new  immortal  wakes  — 

Wakes  with  his  God  1 


IGO 


MRS.    SOUTHEY. 


LIFE   AND    DEATH. 


Oh,  fear  not  thou  to  die! 

Far  rather  fear  to  live,  —  for  life 

Hath  thousand  snares  thy  faith  to  try, 

By  peril,  pain  and  strife. 

Brief  is  the  work  of  death, 
But  life  !  the  spirit  shrinks  to  see. 
How  full  ere  Heaven  recalls  the  breat) 

The  cup  of  woe  may  be. 

Oh,  fear  not  thou  to  die  ! 

No  more,  to  suffer  or  to  sin  ; 

No  snares  without  thy  faith  to  try, 

No  traitor  heart  within  ; 

But  fear,  oh  rather  fear, 
The  gay,  the  light,  the  changeful  scene 
The  flattering  smiles  that  greet  thee  here, 

From  Heaven  thy  heart  to  wean. 

Fear  lest,  in  evil  hour, 
Thy  pure  and  holy  hope  o'ercome. 
By  clouds  that  in  the  horizon  lower, 
Thy  spirit  feel  the  gloom 
Which  over  earth  and  Heaven 
The  covering  throws  of  fell  despair, 
And  deems  itself  the  unforgiven. 
Predestined  child  of  care. 

Oh,  fear  not  thou  to  die ! 

To  die,  and  be  that  blessed  one 


MRS.    SOUTHET.  161 

Who  in  the  bright  and  beauteous  sky 

May  feel  his  conflict  done  ;  — 

May  feel  that  never  more 
The  tear  of  grief,  of  shame,  shall  come 
For  thousand  wanderings  from  the  power 

Who  loved  and  called  him  home. 


THE   INFANT'S   REMOVAL. 

God  took  thee  in  his  mercy, 
A  lamb  untasked,  untried ; 

He  fought  the  fight  for  thee, 

He  won  the  victory, 

And  thou  art  sanctified  1 

I  look  around  and  see 
The  evil  ways  of  men  ; 

And,  O  beloved  child  ! 

I'm  more  than  reconciled 
To  thy  departure  then. 

Now,  like  a  dewdrop  shrined 

Within  a  crystal  stone, 
Thou'rt  safe  in  heaven,  my  dove, 
Safe  with  the  Source  of  love, 
The  Everlasting  One. 


1789. 


MAGDALENE'S   HYMN. 

FROM    "THE    CITY   OF   THE   PLAGTTB." 

The  air  of  death  breathes  through  our  souls, 

The  dead  all  round  us  lie ; 
By  day  and  night  the  death-bell  tolls, 

And  says,  "  Prepare  to  die." 

The  face  that  in  the  morning  sun 

We  thought  so  wond'rous  fair, 
Hath  faded,  ere  his  course  was  run, 

Beneath  its  golden  hair. 

I  see  the  old  man  in  his  grave, 

With  thin  locks  silvery-gray  ; 
I  see  the  child's  bright  tresses  wave 

In  the  cold  breath  of  clay.  ^ 

163 


JOHN    WILSON.  163 

The  loving  ones  we  loved  the  best, 

Like  music  all  are  gone ! 
And  the  wan  moonlight  bathes  in  rest 

Their  monumental  stone. 

But  not  when  the  death-prayer  is  said 

The  life  of  life  departs  ; 
The  body  in.the  grave  is  laid, 

Its  beauty  in  our  hearts. 

And  holy  midnight  voices  sweet 

Like  fragrance  fill  the  room, 
And  happy  ghosts  with  noiseless  feet 

Come  bright'ning  from  the  tomb. 

We  know  who  sends  the  visions  bright. 
From  whose  dear  side  they  came ! 

—  We  veil  our  eyes  before  thy  light, 
We  bless  our  Saviour's  name  ! 

This  frame  of  dust,  this  feeble  breath 

The  Plague  may  soon  destroy  ; 
We  think  on  Thee,  and  feel  in  death 

A  deep  and  awful  joy. 

Dim  is  the  light  of  vanished  years 

In  the  glory  yet  to  come  ; 
O  idle  grief!  O  foolish  tears  ! 

When  Jesus  calls  us  home. 


164  JOHN    WILSON. 

Like  children  for  some  bauble  fair 
That  weep  themselves  to  rest ; 

We  part  with  life^  awake  !  and  there 
The  jewel  in  our  breast  ! 


CONSOLATION    FROM   GOD'S  -VISIBLE   WORKS. 

Witness  Thou  ! 

O  Mighty  One  !  whose  saving  love  has  stolen 

On  the  deep  peace  of  moonbeams  to  my  heart,  — 

Thou  !   who  with  looks  of  mercy  oft  hast  cheered 

The  starry  silence,  when,  at  noon  of  night. 

On  some  wild  mountain  Thou  hast  not  declined 

The  homage  of  Thy  lonely  worshipper, — 

Bear  witness,  Thou  !  that  both  in  joy  and  grief, 

The  love  of  nature  long  hath  been  with  me 

The  love  of  virtue  :  —  that  the  solitude 

Of  the  remotest  hills  to  me  hath  been 

Thy  temple  :  —  that  the  fountain's  happy  voice 

Hath  sung  Thy  goodness  ;  and  Thy  power  has  stunned 

My  spirit  in  the  roaring  cataract  '   .  .   .  . 

Oh  !   how  oft 

In  seasons  of  depression,  —  when  the  lamp 
Of  life  burned  dim,  and  all  unpleasing  thoughts 
Subdued  the  proud  aspirings  of  the  soul, — 
When  doubts  and  fears  withheld  the  timid  eye 
From  scanning  scenes  to  come,  and  a  deep  sense 


JOHN    WILSON.  165 

Of  human  frailty  turned  the  past  to  pain, — 

How  oft  have  I  remembered  that  a  world 

Of  glory  lay  around  me,  —  that  a  source 

Of  lofty  solace  lay  in  every  star  ; 

And  that  no  being  need  behold  the  sun 

And  grieve,  that  knew  Who  hung  him  in  the  sky ' 

Thus  unperceived  I  woke  from  heavy  grief 

To  airy  joy  :  and  seeing  that  the  mind 

Of  man,  though  still  the  image  of  his  God, 

Leaned  by  his  will  on  various  happiness, 

I  felt  that  all  was  good  ;  that  faculties 

Though  low,  might  constitute,  if  rightly  used, 

True  wisdom;  and  when  man  hath  here  attained 

The  purpose  of  his  being,  he  will  sit 

Near  Mercy's  throne,  whether  his  course  hath  been 

Prone  on  the  earth's  dim  sphere,  or,  as  with  wing 

Of  viewless  eagle,  round  the  central  blaze. 


IMMORTAL    HOPES. 


O,  WHAT  were  life. 

Even  in  the  warm  and  summer  light  of  joy, 

Without  those  hopes,  that,  like  refreshing  gales 

At  evening  from  the  sea,  come  o'er  the  soul 

Breathed  from  the  ocean  of  eternity ! 

And  O  !  without  them  who  could  bear  the  storms 


166  JOHN   WILSON. 

That  fall  in  roaring  blackness  o'er  the  waters 

Of  agitated  life.     Then  hopes  arise 

All  round  our  sinking  souls,  like  those  fair  birds, 

O'er  whose  soft  plumes  the  tempest  has  no  power, 

Waving  their  snow-white  wings  amid  the  darkness, 

And  wiling  us,  with  gentle  motion,  on 

To  some  calm  island,  on  whose  silvery  strand, 

Dropping  at  once,  they  fold  their  silent  pinions, 

And,  as  we  touch  the  shores  of  paradise, 

In  love  and  beauty  walk  around  our  feet ! 


THE    EVENING   CLOUD. 

A  CLOUD  lay  cradled  near  the  setting  sun, 
A  gleam  of  crimson  tinged  its  braided  snow: 
Long  had  I  watched  the  glory  moving  on 
O'er  the  still  radiance  of  the  Lake  below. 
Tranquil  its  spirit  seemed  :  it  floated  slow  ; 
Even  in  its  very  motion,  there  was  rest : 
While  every  breath  of  eve  that  chanced  to  blow, 
Wafted  the  traveller  to  the  beauteous  West. 
Emblem,  methought,  of  the  departed  soul  ! 
To  whose  white  robe  the  gleam  of  bliss  is  given  ; 
And,  by  the  breath  of  Mercy,  made  to  roll 
Right  onward  to  the  golden  gates  of  Heaven, 
Where,  to  the  eye  of  Faith,  it  peaceful  lies 
And  tells  to  man  his  glorious  destinies. 


f  H3^  |mtt. 

1784. 


REFLECTIONS  OF  A  SOUL  ON  DEATH. 

BcENE.  —  A  female  sitting  bij  a  bedside,  anxioushj  looking  at  the 
face  of  her  hmband,  just  dead.  The  soul  within  the  dead  body 
soliloquizes. 

What  change  is  this !     What  joy !     What  depth  of 

rest ! 
What  suddenness  of  withdrawal  from  all  pain 
Into  all  bliss  !  into  a  balm  so  perfect 
I  do  not  even  smile !     I  tried  but  now, 
With  that  breath's  end,  to  speak  to  the  dear  face 
That  watches  me —  and  lo  !   all  in  an  instant, 
Instead  of  toil,  and  a  weak,  weltering  tear, 
I  am  all  peace,  all  happiness,  all  power. 
Laid  on  some  throne  in  space. —  Great  God!   I  am 

dead. 

167 


168  LEIGH    HUNT. 

[-4  pause.^     Dear  God  !    Thy  love  is  perfect ;    Thy 

truth  known. 
\^Anot7ier.^  And  He, —  and  they!  —  How  simple  and 

strange  !     How  beautiful  ! 
But  I  may  whisper  it  not,  —  even  to  thought, 
Lest  strong  imagination,  hearing  it, 
Speak,  and  the  world  be  shattered. 
\^Soul  again  pauses.^     O  balm  !  O  bliss!  O  saturating 

smile 
Unvanishing  !  O  doubt  ended  !  certainty 
Begun  !  O  will,  faultless,  yei  all  indulged. 
Encouraged  to  be  wilful  ;  —  to  delay 
Even  its  wings  for  heaven  ;  —  and  thus  to  rest 
Here,    here,   ev'n    here,  —  'twixt    heaven    and    earth 

awhile, 
A  bed  in  the  morn  of  endless  happiness. 
I  feel  warm  drops  falling  upon  my  face  ; 
—  My  wife  !  my  love !  —  'tis  for  the  best  thou  canst  not 
Know  how  I  know  thee  weeping,  and  how  fond 
A  kiss  meets  thine  in  these  unowning  lips. 
Ah,  truly  was  my  love  what  thou  didst  hope  it, 
And  more  ;  and  so  was  thine  —  I  read  it  all  — 
And  our  small  feuds  were  but  impatiences 
At  seeing  the  dear  truth  ill  understood. 
Poor  sweet !  thou  blamest  now  thyself,  and  heapest 
Memory  on  memory  of  imagined  wrong. 
As  I  should  have  done  too, —  as  all  who  love  ; 
And  yet  I  cannot  pity  thee  :  —  so  well 
I  know  the  end,  and  how  thou'lt  smile  hereafter. 


LEIGH   HUNT.  169 

She  speaks  my  name  at  last,  as  though  she  feared 

The  terrible,  familiar  sound  ;  and  sinks 

In  sobs  upon  my  bosom.     Hold  me  fast, 

Hold   me    fast,    sweet,    and    from   the   extreme   grow 

calm, — 
Me  cruelly  unmoved,  and  yet  how  loving  ! 

How  wrong  was  I  to  quarrel  with  poor  James  ! 
And  how  dear  Francis  mistook  me  !     That  pride, 
How  without  ground  it  was  !     Those  arguments 
Which  I  supposed  so  final,  O  how  foolish  ! 
Yet  gentlest  Death  will  not  permit  rebuke, 
Ev'n  of  one's  self.     They'll  know  all,  as  I  know, 
When  they  lie  thus. 

Colder  I  grow,  and  happier, 
Warmness  and  sense  are  drawing  to  a  point. 
Ere  they  depart;  —  myself  quitting  myself. 
The  soul  gathers  its  wings  upon  the  edge 
Of  the  new  world,  yet  how  assuredly  ! 
Oh  !  how  in  balm  I  change  !  actively  willed, 
Yet  passive,  quite  ;  and  feeling  opposites  mingle 
In  exquisitest  peace  !  —  Those  fleshly  clothes, 
Which  late  I  thought  myself^  lie  more  and  more 
Apart  from  this  warm,  sweet,  retreating  me, 
Who  am  as  a  hand,  withdrawing  from  a  glove. 

So  lay  my  mother  :  so  my  father  :  so 
My  children  :  yet  I  pitied  them.     I  wept, 


170  LEIGH    HUNT. 

And  fancied  them   in  their  graves,  and  called  them 
*'  poor ! " 

O  graves  !  O  tears !  O  knowledge,  will,  and  time, 
And  fear,  and  hope  !  what  petty  terms  of  earth 
Were  ye !  yet  how  I  love  ye  as  of  earth 
The  planet's  household  words  ;  and  how  postpone, 
Till  out  of  these  dear  arms,  th'  immeasurable 
Tongue  of  the  all-possessing  smile  eternal ! 
Ah,  not  excluding  these,  nor  aught  that's  past, 
Nor  aught  that's  present,  nor  that  yet's  to  come. 
Well  waited  for.     I  would  not  stir  a  finger 
Out  of  this  rest,  to  re-assure  all  anguish ; 
Such  warrant  hath  it ;  such  divine  conjuncture  ; 
Such  a  charm  binds  it  with  the  needs  of  bliss. 


That  was  my  eldest  boy's  —  that  kiss.     And  that 

The  baby  with  its  little  unweening  mouth  ; 

And  those  —  and  those  —  Dear  hearts  !  they  have  all 

come, 
And  think  me  dead  —  me,  who  so  know  I'm  living, 
The  vitalest  creature  in  this  fleshly  room. 
I  part ;  and  with  my  spirit's  eyes  full  opened 
Will  look  upon  them. 

[Spirit  parts  from  the  body,  and  breathes  upon  their  eyes 

Patient  be  those  tears, 
Fresh  heart-dews,  standing  on  these  dear  clay-moulds. 
I  quit  ye  but 

To  meet  again,  and  will  revisit  soon 
In  many  a  dream,  and  many  a  gentle  sigh. 


LEIGH    HUNT.  171 

[Spl}-it  looks  at  the  body. 
And  was  that  I?  —  that  hollow-cheeked,  pale  thing, 
Shattered  with  passions,  worn  with  cares  :  now  placid 
Witii  my  divine  departure?     And  must  love 
Think  of  thee  painfully  1  of  stifling  boards 
'Gainst  the  free  face,  and  of  the  irreverent  worm  1 
To  dust  with  thee,  poor  corpse  !  to  dust  and  grass, 
And  the  glad  innocent  worm,  that  does  its  duty 
As  thou  dost  thine  in  changing.     I,  thy  life,  — 
Life  of  thy  life !  —  turn  my  face  forth  to  Heaven  ! 
O  the  infinitude  and  the  eternity  ! 
The  rapid,  angelical  faces  ! 
My  mother  !  .  .  . 


AN   ANGEL   IN   THE    HOUSE. 

How  sweet  it  were,  if,  without  feeble  fright, 

Or  dying  of  the  dreadful,  beauteous  sight, 

An  angel  came  to  us,  and  we  could  bear 

To  see  him  issue  from  the  silent  air. 

At  evening,  in  our  room,  and  bend  on  ours 

His  divine  eyes,  and  bring  us  from  his  bowers 

News  of  dear  friends,  and  children  who  have  never 

Been  dead  indeed,  as  we  shall  know  forever. 

Alas  !  we  think  not  that  we  daily  see 

About  our  hearths  angels  that  are  to  be. 

Or  may  be,  if  they  will,  and  we  prepare 

Their  souls  and  ours  to  meet  in  happy  air,  — 

A  child,  a  friend,  a  wife,  whose  soft  heart  sings 

In  unison  with  ours,  breedincr  its  future  win^s. 


172  LEIGH   HUNT. 

ABOU  BEN  ADHEM  AND  THE  ANGEL. 

Abou  Ben  Adiiem  (may  his  tribe  increase !) 

Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 

And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 

Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

An  angel,  writing  in  a  book  of  gold : 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold ; 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

"  What  writest  thou  ?  "     The  vision  raised  his  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord. 

Answered,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

'*  And  is  mine  one  ?  "  said  Abou.     "  Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spake  more  low, 

But  cheerily  still  ;  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee,  then. 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fcllow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 

It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light. 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blessed, 

And  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 


THE   ROAD    OF   DEATH. 


Death  is  a  road  our  dearest  friends  have  gone ; 
Why,  with  such  leaders,  fear  to  say  "  Lead  on  ?" 
Its  gate  repels,  lest  it  too  soon  be  tried ; 
But  turns  in  balm  on  the  immortal  side. 
Mothers  have  passed  it ;  fathers  ;  children  ;  men, 


LEIGH    HUNT.  173 

Whose  like  we  look  not  to  behold  again  ; 
Women,  that  smiled  away  their  loving  breath  :  — 
Soft  is  the  travelling  on  the  road  of  Death ! 

But  Guilt  has  passed  it  ?     Men  not  fit  to  die ! 
Oh,  hush  —  for  He  that  made  us  all,  is  by  ! 
Human  were  all  ;  all  men  ;  all  born  of  mothers  ; 
All  our  own  se'ves,  in  the  worn  shape  of  others  ; 
Our  used  and  yjii !  be  sure,  not  to  be  zVZ-used  brothers. 


PROVIDENCE. 


FKOM    THE   ITALIAN. 


Just  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious  face. 
Yearns  towards  her  little  children  from  her  seat, 
Gives  one  a  kiss,  another  an  embrace, 
Takes  this  upon  her  knees,  that  on  her  feet ; 
And  wh'ile  from  actions,  looks,  complaints,  pretences, 
She  learns  their  feelings  and  their  various  will, 
To  this  a  look,  to  that  a  word,  dispenses, 
'And,  whether  stern  or  smiling,  loves  them  still ;  — 
So  Providence  for  us,  high,  infinite, 
Makes  our  necessities  its  watchful  task, 
Hearkens  to  all  our  prayers,  helps  all  our  wants, 
And,  even  if  it  denies  what  seems  our  right, 
Either  denies  because  'twould  have  us  ask, 
Or  seems  but  to  deny,  or  in  denying  grants. 


^l^\mm  §t  ^mmxtkt 


FROM   "THE   DEATH   OF  SOCRATES." 

"  Know'st  thou  the  way  to  that  invisible  shore  ?  " 
Said  Cebes  :  *'  Hath  thine  eye  then  scanned  it  o'er  ?  " 

—  "  Friends,  to  that  world  my  steps  are  drawing  near, 
More  and  more  clearly  I  its  music  hear, 

And  to  behold  its  scenes  with  open  eye  —  " 

—  "What,  must  we?"   Phedon  said. "Be   pure 

and  die  ! 
There  is,  somewhere  in  the  immense  expanse, 
To  mortals  inaccessible,  perchance 
Far  overhead  beyond  the  arching  skies, 
Perchance  around  us,  here,  on  earth,  it  lies, 
Another  world,  a  heaven,  an  Elysium,  where 
Not  streams  of  honey  glide  through  amber  fair, 
Nor  virtuous  souls,  by  God  alone  renewed, 
Drink  nectar  and  partake  ambrosial  food, 
But  sainted  shades,  immortal  spirits  come 

174 


ALPHONSE    DE    LAMARTINE.  175 

To  take  the  crown  of  earthly  martyrdom  ! 

Neither  dark  Tempe,  nor  the  laughing  height 

Of  Menelus,  when  morning's  rosy  light 

Plays  round  it,  and  her  breath  with  perfumes  rare 

i^'ills  all  the  fresh,  intoxicating  air, 

The  vales  of  Hemus,  nor  the  rich  hill-sides 

Where,  with  sweet  murmurings,  Eurotas  glides, 

Nor  yet  that  land,  the  poets'  chosen  shore, 

Where  the  charmed  traveller  thinks  of  home  no  more, 

Not  all  of  these  can  match  that  blest  abode 

Where  the  soul's  daylight  is  the  look  of  God  1 

Where  night  can  never  come,  nor  night  of  death, 

Where  in  love's  atmosphere  the  soul  draws  breath  I 

Where  bodies  that  ne'er  die,  or  die  to  live,    • 

For  finer  pleasures  finer  senses  give  !  " 

—  "What !  bodies  ev'n  in  heaven  ?  side  by  side, 

Death  ranged  with  life  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  bodies  glorified 

By  the  transfiguring  soul,  who,  to  compose 

These  heavenly  vestments,  through  creation  goes, 

Culling  the  flower  of  the  elements  ; 

All  that  is  present  in  the  world  of  sense, 

The  tender  rays  of  the  transparent  light, 

The  softest  tints  that  blend  in  solar  white. 

The  sweetest  scents  exhaled  by  evening  flowers. 

The  murmured  cadences  at  midnight  hours. 

Borne  by  the  amorous  zephyr  through  the  trees, 

Or  o'er  the  bosom  of  the  sighing  seas, 

The  flame  that  shoots  in  jets  of  blue  and  gold, 

Crystal  of  streams  beneath  a  pure  sky  rolled, 


176  ALPHONSE   DE   LAMARTINE. 

The  purple  tinge  Aurora  gives  her  sails, 

When  first  they  flutter  in  the  morning  gales, 

The  rays  of  tremulous  stars  that,  imaged,  sleep 

On  the  calm  mirror  of  the  silent  deep,  — 

All,  blended,  form  beneath  her  plastic  hand 

A  body  pliant  to  the  soul's  command, 

And  she  who,  once  bound  down  with  many  a  chain, 

'Gainst  her  revolted  senses  warred  in  vain, 

To-day,  triumphant  o'er  her  indolence, 

Majestically  rules  the  world  of  sense, 

Creates  new  senses,  pleasures,  endlessly. 

And  plays  with  space,  time,  life,  creation  —  free  ' 

*  *  *  Pie  seemed  to  slumber  in  a  dream's  embrace. 

The  intrepid  Cebes,  gazing  in  his  face. 

By  every  art  of  yearning  friendship  tries 

To  summon  back  into  his  fading  eyes 

The  soul  fust  parting  with  the  feeble  breath. 

And  questions  him  e'en  on  the  brink  of  death  : 

"  Sleep'st  thou?     Is  death  a  slumber?     Speak!"  he 

cried. 
Gathering  his  energies,  the  sage  replied  : 
"  It  is  a  waking  !  "   ..."  Veiled  are  not  thine  eyes 
With  funeral  shadows  ?  "...  "No  ;  I  see  arise 
Amidst  the  shades  a  pure  and  heavenly  day  !  "  .  .  . 
"  Hear'st  thou  no  groans  —  no   lamentations?"  .  . 

"  Nay  ; 
But  stars  of  gold  that,  as  in  heaven  they  flame. 
Murmur  in  circling  choir  a  holy  name  !  "  .  .  . 


ALPHONSE    DE    LAMARTINE.  177 

"  What  feelest  thou?"  .  .  "  What  the  young  Chrys- 
alis 

Feels,  when  she  bursts  her  coil,  in  freedom's  bliss. 

And  as  the  light  of  morning  greets  her  eyes, 

The  breath  of  morning  wafts  her  through  the  skies  !  "  — 

"And  hast  thou  taught  us  truth?  The  soul  .  .  .? 
reply!  .  .  ." 

"  Believe  this  smile ;  the  soul  shall  never  die  !  .  .  ." 

"What  waitest  thou,  that  the.  from  earth  may'st 
flee?"  .  .  . 

"  A  breath,  as  waits  the  ship,  impatient  for  the 
sea !  "  .  .  . 

"  Whence  shall  it  come  ?  "  "  From  heaven  !  "  .  .  . 
"  Yet  one  word  more  !  " 

"  No  ;  leave  my  soul  alone,  in  peace  to  soar ! ' 


it  €\Mt\b. 


MUSINGS   IN  THE  TEMPLE   OF  NATURE. 

Man  can  build  nothing  worthy  of  his  Maker,  — 

From  royal  Solomon's  stupendous  fane, 
Down  to  the  humble  chapel  of  the  Quaker, 

All,  all  are  vain. 

The  wondrous  world  which  He  himself  created 

Is  the  fit  temple  of  creation's  Lord  ; 
There  may  His  worship  best  be  celebrated, 

And  praises  poured. 

Its  altar,  earth ;  its  roof,  the  sky  untainted  ; 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  are  lamps  that  give  it  light ; 
And  clouds,  by  the  celestial  Artist  painted, 

Its  pictures  bright. 

178 


DR.   CHATFIELD.  179 

lis  choir,  all  vocal  things,  whose  glad  devotion 

In  one  united  hymn  is  heavenward  sped  ; 
The  thunder-peal,  the  winds,  the  deep-mouthed  ocean, 

Its  organ  dread  ! 

The  face  of  Nature  its  God-written  Bible, 

Which  all  mankind  may  study  and  explore, 
While  none  can  wrest,  interpolate,  or  libel 

Its  living  lore. 

Hence  learn  we  that  our  Maker,  whose  affection 

Knows  no  distinction,  suffers  no  recall, 
Sheds  His  impartial  favor  and  protection 

Alike  on  all. 

Thus  by  Divine  example  do  we  gather. 

That  every  race  should  love  alike  all  others ; 
Christian,  Jew,  Pagan,  children  of  one  Father, 

All,  all  are  brothers ! 

Conscience,  Heaven's  silent  oracle,  the  assessor 

Of  right  and  wrong  in  every  human  breast. 
Sternly  condemns  the  impenitent  transgressor 

To  live  unblest. 

The  pious  and  the  virtuous,  though  assaulted 

By  fortune's  frown,  or  man's  unjust  decrees, 
Still  in  their  bosoms  find  a  pure,  exalted, 

Unfailing  peace  I 


180  DR.    CHATFIELD. 

Hence  do  we  learn  that,  hardened  vice  is  hateful, 

Since  Heaven  pursues  it  with  avenging  rod  ; 
While  goodness,  self-rewarded,  must  be  grateful 

To  man  and  God. 

O  !  Thou  most  visible,  yet  unseen  Teacher, 
Whose  finger  writes  its  lessons  on  our  sphere, 

0  !  Thou  most  audible,  but  unheard  Preacher, 

Whose  sermons  clear 

Are  seen  and  read  in  all  that  Thou  performest. 

Wilt  Thou  look  down  and  bless,  if,  when  I  kneel, 
Apart  from  man-built  fanes,  I  feel  the  warmest 

And  purest  zeal  ? 

If  in  the  temple  Thine  own  hands  have  fashioned, 
'Neath  the  bright  sky,  by  lonely  stream  or  wood, 

1  pour  to  Thee,  with  thrilling  heart  impassioned, 

My  gratitude  ? 

If  in  Thy  present  miracles  terrestrial 

Mine  eyes  behold,  wherever  I  have  kneeled, 
New  proofs  of  the  futurity  celestial 

To  man  revealed  ? 

If,  fearing  Thee,  I  love  the  whole  creation, 

Keeping  my  bosom  undefiled  by  guilt. 
Wilt  Thou  receive  and  bless  mine  adoration  ? 

Thou  wilt,  Thou  wilt ! 


Sir  (&.  lultoer  f  jrtte. 


REPOSE   IN    FAITH. 

Behold  the  storm-beat  wanderer  in  repose  ! 

He  lists  the  sounds  at  which  the  Heavens  unclose ! 

Gleam,  through  expanding  bars,  the  angel-wings, 

And  floats  the  music  borne  from  seraph-strings ! 

Holy  the  oldest  creed  which  Nature  gives, 

Proclaiming  God  where'er  Creation  lives; 

But  there  the  doubt  will  come  1  —  the  clear  design 

Attests  the  Maker  and  suggests  the  Shrine; 

But  in  that  visible  harmonious  plan, 

What  present  shows  the  future  world  to  man  1 

What  lore  detects,  beneath  our  crumbling  clay, 

A  soul  exiled,  and  journeying  back  to-day; 

What  knowledge,  in  the  bones  of  charnel  urns, 

T.he  ethereal  spark,  the  undying  thought,  discerns? 

How  from  the  universal  war,  the  prey 

Of  life  on  life,  can  Love  explore  the  way  1 

181 


182  SIR   E.    BULWEE   LYTTON. 

Search  the  material  tribes  of  earth,  sea,  air, 
And  the  fierce  Self  that  strives  and  slays  is  there. 
What  but  that  Self  do  Man  and  Nature  teach  ? 
Where  the  charmed  link  that  binds  the  all  to  each  ? 
Where  the  sweet  law  —  (doth  Nature  boast  its  birth  ?)  — 
"  Good  will  to  man,  and  charity  to  earth  ?  " 

Not  in  the  world  without,  but  that  within. 

Revealed,  not  instinct  —  soul  from  sense  can  win  ! 

And  where  the  Natural  halts,  where  cramped,  confined, 

The  seen  horizon  bounds  the  baffled  mind, 

The  Inspired  begins  —  the  onward  march  is  given  ; 

Bridging  all  space,  nor  ending  ev'n  in  Heaven ! 

There,  veiled  on  earth,  we  mark  divinely  clear, 

Duty  and  end  —  the  There  explains  the  Here  I 

We  see  the  link  that  binds  the  future  band, 

Foeman  with  foeman  gliding  hand  in  hand  ; 

And  feel  that  Hate  is  but  an  hour's  —  the  Son 

Of  earth,  to  perish  when  the  earth  is  done  — 

But  Love  eternal  ;  and  we  turn  below, 

To  hail  the  brother  where  we  loathed  the  foe  : 

There,  in  the  soft  and  beautiful  Belief, 

Flows  the  true  Lethe  for  the  lips  of  Grief; 

There,  Penury,  Hunger,  Misery,  cast  their  eyes, 

How  soon  the  bright  Republic  of  the  Skies  ! 

There,  Love,  heart-broken,  sees  prepared  the  bower, 

And  hears  the  bridal  step,  and  waits  the  nuptial  hour ! 

There,  smiles  the  mother,  we  have  wept '  there  bloom 

Again  the  buds  asleep  within  the  tomb  ; 

There,  o'er  bright  gates  inscribed,  "  No  more  to  part," 

Soul  springs  to  soul,  and  heart  unites  to  heart ! 


1784-1849. 


THE  LAND  WHICH  NO   MORTAL  MA'S    KNOW. 

Though  earth  has  full  many  a  beautiful  spot, 

As  a  poet  or  painter  might  show  ; 
Yet  more  lovely  and  beautiful,  holy  and  bright. 
To  the  hopes  of  the  heart  and  the  spirit's  glad  sight, 

Is  the  land  that  no  mortal  may  know. 

There  the  crystalline  stream,  bursting  forth  from  the 
throne, 

Flows  on,  and  forever  will  flow  ; 
Its  waves,  as  they  roll,  are  with  melody  rife. 
And  its  waters  are  sparkling  with  beauty  and  life, 

In  the  land  which  no  mortal  may  know. 

And  there,  on  its  margin,  with  leaves  ever  green, 
With  its  fruits  healing  sickness  and  woe, 

183 


184  BERNARD    BARTON. 

The  fair  tree  of  life,  in  its  glory  and  pride, 
Is  fed  by  that  deep,  inexhaustible  tide, 
Of  the  land  which  no  mortal  may  know. 

There  too  are  the  lost !  whom  we  loved  on  this  earth, 

With  whose  mem'ries  our  bosoms  yet  glow  ; 
Their  reliques  we  gave  to  the  place  of  the  dead, 
But  their  glorified  spirits  before  us  have  fled 
To  the  land  which  no  mortal  may  know. 

Oh  !  who  but  must  pine  in  this  dark  vale  of  tears, 

From  its  clouds  and  its  shadows  to  go, 
To  walk  in  the  light  of  the  glory  above, 
And  to  share  in  the  peace,  and  the  joy,  and  the  love, 
Of  the  land  which  no  mortal  may  know  ! 


TOO  LATE. 


Bitter  the  anguish  with  these  two  words  blended, 
For  those  contemplating  their  hopeless  lot. 

Who  find  Hfe's  summer  past,  —  its  harvest  ended, — 
And  winter  nigh,  while  they  are  gathered  not. 

Y'et  do  Thou,  Lord,  by  Thy  supreme  conviction, 
Give  them  to  feel  that,  though  their  sins  are  great, 

Thy  love  and  mercy  own  not  our  restriction, 
But  that  with  Thee^  it  never  is  too  late  ! 


BERNARD    BARTON.  185 


FAITH,  HOPE,  AND   CHARITY. 

Still  abide  the  heaven-born  Three, 
Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Charity  ! 
Faith  —  to  point  our  heavenly  goal,  . 
Hope  —  an  anchor  to  the  soul : 
Faith  and  Hope  must  pass  away ; 
Charity  endures  for  aye! 

Hope  must  in  possession  die  ; 
Faith  —  in  blissful  certainty  ; 
These  to  gladden  each  were  given; 
Love,  or  Charity  —  for  Heaven  ! 
For,  in  brighter  realms  above, 
Charity  survives  —  as  Love. 

Love  to  Him,  the  great  I  AM  ! 
Love  to  Him,  the  atoning  Lamb  ! 
Love  unto  the  Holy  Ghost ! 
Love  to  all  the  heavenly  host ! 
Love  to  all  the  human  race, 
Sanctified  by  saving  grace  ! 

In  that  pure  and  perfect  love, 
Treasured  up  for  Heaven  above. 
Christian  !  may  thy  grateful  heart 
Have  its  everlasting  part ; 
And  when  Faith  and  Hope  are  mute. 
Find  in  endless  Love  their  fruit  I 


186  BERNARD    BARTON. 


SIGNS   AND    TOKENS. 

He  who  watches  winds  that  blow. 
May  too  long  neglect  to  sow  ; 
He  who  waits  lest  clouds  should  rain, 
Harvest  never  shall  obtain. 

Signs  and  tokens  false  may  prove ; 
Trust  thou  in  a  Saviour's  love, 
In  His  sacrifice  for  sin, 
And  His  Spirit's  power  within. 

Keep  thou  Zion-ward  thy  face, 

Ask  in  faith  the  aid  of  grace, 

Use  the  strength  which  grace  shall  give 

Die  to  self —  in  Christ  to  live. 

Faith  in  God,  if  such  be  thine. 
Shall  be  found  thy  safest  sign. 
And  obedience  to  His  will 
Prove  the  best  of  tokens  still. 


FAREWELL. 

Nay,  shrink  not  from  the  word  "  farewell !  '* 
As  if  'twere  friendship's  final  knell ; 
Such  fears  may  prove  but  vain  : 


BERNARD    BARTON.  187 

So  changeful  is  life's  fleeting  day, 
Whene'er  we  sever  —  hope  may  say 
"  We  part  to  meet  again  !  " 

Even  the  last  parting  earth  can  know, 
Brings  not  unutterable  woe, 

To  souls  that  heavenward  soar ; 
For  humble  Faith,  with  steadfast  eye, 
Points  to  a  brighter  world  on  high. 
Where  hearts  that  here  at  parting  sight 

May  meet  —  to  vart  no  more. 


1780-1852. 


COMFORT   IN  AFFLICTION. 

Oh  !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear 

How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee ! 
The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone ; 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part. 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

188 


THOMAS    MOORE.  IgQ 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  even  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too, — 
Oh  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom. 

Did  not  Thy  wing  of  love 
Come  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  peace-branch  from  above  ! 
Then  sorrow  touched  by  Thee  grows  bright, 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day. 


BUT    ^VHO    SHALL   SEE. 

But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day 

When,  throned  on  Zion's  brow, 
The  Lord  shall  rend  that  veil  away 

Which  hides  the  nations  now  ? 
When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  fear 

Of  His  rebuke  shall  lie  ; 
When  pain  shall  cease,  and  every  tear 

Be  wiped  from  ev'ry  eye. 

Then,  Judah,  thou  no  more  shalt  mourn 
Beneath  the  heathen's  chain  ; 

Thy  days  of  splendor  shall  return, 
And  all  be  new  again. 


190  THOMAS    MOORE. 

The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quaffed 
In  peace,  by  all  who  come  ; 

And  every  wind  that  blows  shall  waft 
Some  long-lost  exile  home. 


BLISS    OF  HEAVEN. 


Go,  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall : 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 

One  minute  of  heaven  is  worth  them  all. 


1794. 


THE   RETURN   OF  YOUTH. 

My  friend,  thou  sorrowest  for  thy  golden  prime, 

For  thy  fair  youthful  years  too  swift  of  flight. 
Thou  musest,  with  wet  eyes,  upon  the  time 

Of  cheerful  hopes  that  filled  the  world  with  light, — 
Years  when  thy  heart  was  bold,  thy  hand  was  strong, 

And  quick  the  thought  that  moved  thy  tongue  to 
speak, 
And  willing  faith  was  thine,  and  scorn  of  wrong 

Summoned  the  sudden  crimson  to  thy  cheek. 

Thou  lookest  forward  on  the  coming  days, 

Shuddering  to  feel  their  shadow  o'er  thee  creep. 

A  path,  thick-set  with  changes  and  decays 

Slopes  downward  to  the  place  of  common  sleep  ; 

191 


192  WILLIAM    CULLEN    BEY  ANT. 

And  they  who  walked  with  thee  in  life's  first  stage, 
Leave,  one  by  one,  thy  side,  and,  waiting  near, 

Thou  seest  the  sad  companions  of  thy  age  — 
Dull  love  of  rest,  and  weariness  and  fear. 

Yet  grieve  thou  not,  nor  think  thy  youth  is  gone. 

Nor  deem  that  glorious  season  e'er  could  die. 
Thy  pleasant  youth,  a  little  while  withdrawn. 

Waits  on  the  horizon  of  a  brighter  sky  ; 
Waits,  like  the  morn,  that  folds  her  wing  and  hides, 

Till  the  slow  stars  bring  back  her  dawning  hour ; 
Waits,  like  the  vanished  spring,  that  slumbering  bides 

Her  own  sweet  time  to  waken  bud  and  flower. 

There  shall  He  welcome  thee,  when  thou  shalt  stand 

On  His  bright  morning  hills,  with  smiles  more  sweet 
Than  when  at  first  He  took  thee  by  the  hand, 

Through  the  fair  earth  to  lead  thy  tender  feet ' 
He  shall  bring  back,  but  brighter,  broader  still, 

Life's  early  glory  to  thine  eyes  again  ; 
Shall  clothe  thy  spirit  with  new  strength,  and  fill 

Thy  leaping  heart  with  warmer  love  than  then. 

Hast  thou  not  glimpses,  in  the  twilight  here. 

Of  mountains  where  immortal  morn  prevails  *? 
Comes  there  not,  through  the  silence,  to  thine  ear 

A  gentle  rustling  of  the  morning  gales  ; 
A  murmur,  wafted  from  that  glorious  shore. 

Of  streams  that  water  banks  forever  fair. 
And  voices  of  the  loved  ones  gone  before, 

More  musical  in  that  celestial  air  1 


1700-1748. 


GOD'S  UNIVERSAL  LOVE. 

His  praise,  ye  brooks,  attune,  ye  trembling  rills; 
And  let  me  catch  it  as  I  muse  along. 
Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid,  and  profound ; 
Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 
Along  the  vale  :  and  thou,  majestic  main, 
A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself, 
Sound  His  stupendous  praise  ;  whose  greater  voice 
Or  bids  you  roar,  or  bids  your  roarings  fall. 
Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 
In  mingled  clouds  to  Him  ;  whose  sun  exalts, 
Whose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paints. 
Ye  forests  bend,  ye  harvests  wave,  to  Him  ; 
Breathe  your  still  song  into  the  reaper's  heart, 
As  home  he  goes  beneath  the  joyous  moon. 
Ye  that  keep  watch  in  heaven,  as  earth  asleep 

193 


194  JAMES   THOMSON. 

Unconscious  lies,  effuse  your  mildest  beams, 
Ye  constellations,  while  your  angels  strike. 
Amid  the  spangled  sky,  the  silver  lyre. 
Great  source  of  day  !  best  image  here  below 
Of  thy  Creator,  ever  pouring  wide, 
From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round. 
On  Nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 

The  thunder  rolls  •  '  ><^  hushed  the  prostrate  world, 
While  cloud  to  cloud  returns  the  solemn  hymn. 
Bleat  out  afresh,  ye  hills :  ye  mossy  rocks, 
Retain  the  sound  :  the  broad  responsive  low 
Ye  valleys,  raise  ;  for  the  Great  Shepherd  reigns  ; 
And  His  unsufferino  kingdom  yet  will  come  ! . . . 


Should  fate  command  me  to  the  farthest  verge 
Of  the  green  earth,  to  distant  barbarous  climes. 
Rivers  unknown  to  song  ;  where  first  the  sun 
Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 
Flames  on  the  Atlantic  isles ;  'tis  nought  to  me : 
Since  Gou  is  ever  present,  ever  felt. 
In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full  ; 
And  where  He  vital  breathes  there  must  be  joy. 
When  even  at  last  the  solemn  hour  shall  come, 
And  wing  my  mystic  flight  to  future  worlds, 
I  cheerful  will  obey  ;  there,  with  new  powers, 
Will  rising  wonders  sing  :  I  cannot  go 
Where  Universal  Love  not  smiles  around. 
Sustaining  all  yon  orbs,  and  all  their  suns ; 
From  seeming  Evil  still  educing  Good, 


JAMES    THOMSON.  195 


And  better  thence  again,  and  better  still, 

In  infinite  progression.     But  I  lose 

Myself  in  Him,  in  Light  ineffable  ! 

Come,  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  His  praise. 


MORAL   OF  THE   SEASONS. 

'Tis  done  !  dread  Winter  spreads  his  latest  glooms, 

And  reigns  tremendous  o'er  the  conquered  year. 

How  dead  the  vegetable  kingdom  lies  ! 

How  dumb  the  tuneful  !  horror  wide  extends 

His  desolate  domain.     Behold,  fond  man  ! 

See  here  thy  pictured  life  ;  pass  some  few  years. 

Thy  flowering  Spring,  thy  Summer's  ardent  strength. 

Thy  sober  Autumn  fading  into  age. 

And  pale  concluding  Winter  comes  at  last, 

And  shuts  the  scene.     Ah  !  whither  now  are  fled 

Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 

Of  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  ? 

Those  restless  cares?  those  busy  bustling  days? 

Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights  ?  those  veering  thoughts^ 

Lost  between  good  and  ill,  that  shared  thy  life? 

All  now  are  vanished !     Virtue  sole  survives, 

Immortal,  never-failing  friend  of  man, 

His  guide  to  happiness  on  high.     And  see  ! 

'Tis  come,  the  glorious  morn  !  the  second  birth 

Of  heaven  and  earth  !   awakening  Nature  hears 

The  new-creating  word,  and  starts  to  life, 


196  JAMES    THOMSON. 

In  every  heightened  form,  from  pain  and  death 

Forever  free.     The  great  eternal  scheme, 

Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 

Uniting,  as  the  prospect  wider  spreads, 

To  reason's  eye  refined  clears  up  apace. 

Ye  vainly  wise  !  ye  blind  presumptuous  !  now, 

Confounded  in  the  dust,  adore  that  Power 

And  Wisdom  oft  arraigned  :  see  now  the  cause. 

Why  unassuming  worth  in  secret  lived, 

And  died,  neglected  :  why  the  good  man's  share 

In  life  was  gall  and  bitterness,  of  soul  : 

Why  the  lone  widow  and  her  orphans  pined 

In  starving  solitude  ;  while  Luxury, 

In  palaces,  lay  straining  her  low  thought. 

To  form  unreal  wants  :  why  heaveo-born  truth 

And  moderation  fair,  wore  the  red  marks 

Of  superstition's  scourge  :  why  licensed  pain, 

That  cruel  spoiler,  that  embosomed  foe, 

Embittered  all  our  bliss.     Ye  good  distressed ! 

Ye  noble  few  !  who  here  unbending  stand 

Beneath  life's  pressure,  yet  bear  up  a  while, 

And  what  your  bounded  view,  which  only  saw 

A  little  part,  deemed  evil, —  is  no  more  : 

The  storms  of  Wintry  Time  will  quickly  pass, 

And  one  unbounded  spring  encircle  ALL  I 


Sir  |0|u  gato 

1570-1626. 


THE    SOUL'S  HIGH    DESTINY. 

O  IGNORANT  poor  man  !  what  dost  thou  bear 
Locked  up  within  the  casket  of  thy  breast  ? 

What  jewels,  and  what  riches  hast  thou  there  ? 
What  heavenly  treasure  in  so  weak  a  chest  ? 

Look  in  thy  soul,  and  thou  shalt  beauties  find. 
Like  those  which  drowned  Narcissus  in  the  flood 

Honor  and  pleasure  both  are  in  thy  mind, 
And  all  that  in  the  world  is  counted  good. 

Think  of  her  worth,  and  think  that  God  did  mean 
This  worthy  mind  should  worthy  things  embrace; 

Blot  not  her  beauties  with  thy  thoughts  unclean, 
Nor  her  dishonor  with  thy  passion  base. 

197 


198  SIR   JOHN    DA  VIES. 

Kill  not  her  quickening  power  with  surfeitings; 

Mar  not  her  sense  with  sensuality  ; 
Cast  not  away  her  wit  on  idle  things  ; 

Make  not  her  free-will  slave  to  vanity. 

And  when  thou  think'st  of  her  eternity, 
Think  not  that  death  against  her  nature  is : 

Think  it  a  birth  ;  and,  when  thou  goest  to  die, 
Sing  like  a  3-ym  as  if  thcu  wf  ntst  to  bliss  1 


REASONS   FOE  THE    SOUL'S   IMMORTALITY. 

Again,  how  can  she  but  immortal  be, 

When,  with  the  motions  of  both  will  and  wit, 

She  still  aspireth  to  eternity, 

And  never  rests  till  she  attain  to  it  ? 

All  moving  things  to  other  things  do  move 

Of  the  same  kind,  which  shows  their  nature  such^ 

So  earth  falls  down,  and  fire  doth  mount  above, 
Till  both  their  proper  elements  do  touch. 

And  as  the  moisture  which  the  thirsty  earth 
Sucks  from  the  sea  to  fill  her  empty  veins, 

From  out  her  womb  at  last  doth  take  a  birth, 
And  runs,  a  lymph,  along  the  grassy  plains, 


SIR    JOHN    DAVIES.  199 

Long  doth  she  slay,  as  loth  to  leave  the  land 
From  whose  soft  side  she  first  did  issue  make  ; 

She  tastes  all  places,  turns  to  every  hand, 
Her  flowery  banks  unwilling  to  forsake. 

Yet  nature  so  her  streams  doth  lead  and  carry 
As  that  her  course  doth  make  no  final  stay, 

Till  she  herself  unto  the  sea  doth  marry, 
Within  whose  watery  bosom  first  she  lay. 

E'en  so  the  soul,  which,  in  this  earthly  mould. 
The  spirit  of  God  doth  secretly  infuse. 

Because,  at  first,  she  doth  the  earth  behold, 
And  only  this  material  world  she  views, 

At  first,  her  mother  earth  she  holdeth  dear. 

And  doth  embrace  the  world  and  worldly  things ; 

She  flies  close  by  the  ground,  and  hovers  here. 
And  mounts  not  up,  with  her  celestial  wings;  — 

Yet,  under  heaven,  she  cannot  light  on  aught 
That  with  her  heavenly  nature  doth  agree ; 

She  cannot  rest,  she  cannot  fix  her  thought, 
She  cannot  in  this  world  contented  be. 

For  who  did  ever  yet,  in  honor,  wealth. 

Or  pleasure  of  the  sense,  contentment  find  ? 

Who  ever  ceased  to  wish,  when  he  had  health  1 
Or,  having  wisdom,  was  not  vexed  in  mind  1 


200  SIR    JOHN   DATIES. 

Then,  as  a  bee,  which  among  weeds  doth  fall, 

Which  seem  sweet  flowers  with  lustre  fresh  and  gay, 

She  lights  on  that,  and  this,  and  tasteth  all, 

But,  pleased  with  none,  doth  rise  and  soar  away  — 

So,  when  the  soul  finds  here  no  true  content. 

And,  like  Noah's  dove,  can  no  sure  footing  take, 

She  doth  return  from  whence  she  first  was  sent, 
And  flies  to  Him  that  first  her  wings  did  make. 


AFFLICTION'S   TEACHINGS. 

If  aught  can  teach  us  aught,  affliction's  looks 
(Making  us  pry  into  ourselves  so  near) 

Teach  us  to  know  ourselves  beyond  all  books, 
Or  all  the  learned  schools  that  ever  were. 

She  within  lists  my  ranging  mind  hath  brought, 
That  now  beyond  myself  I  will  not  go : 

Myself  am  centre  of  my  circling  thought : 
Only  myself  I  study,  learn,  and  know. 

I  know  my  life's  a  pain,  and  but  a  span  ; 

I  know  my  sense  is  mocked  in  every  thing ; 
And,  to  conclude,  I  know  myself  a  man. 

Which  is  a  proud  and  yet  a  wretched  thing. 


1783-1826. 


GOD   PROVIDETH  FOR  THE  MORROW. 

Lo !  the  lilies  of  the  field, 

How  their  leaves  instruction  yield ! 

Hark  to  Nature's  lesson  given 

By  the  blessed  birds  of  Heaven. 

Every  bush  and  tufted  tree 

Warbles  sweet  philosophy, — 

"  Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  sorrow: 

God  provideth  for  the  morrow  ! 

"  Say,  with  richer  crimson  glows 
The  kingly  mantle  than  the  rose  ? 
Say,  have  kings  more  wholesome  fare 
Than  we  poor  citizens  of  air  ? 
Barns  nor  hoarded  grain  have  we, 
Yet  we  carol  merrily,  — 

201 


203  EEGINALD    HEBMR. 

Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  sorrow, 
God  provideth  for  the  morrow ! 

"  One  there  lives  whose  guardian  eye 
Guides  our  humble  destiny  ; 
One  there  lives,  who,  Lord  of  all, 
Keeps  our  .feathers  lest  they  fall  ; 
Pass  we  blithely,  then,  the  time, 
Fearless  of  the  snare  and  lime. 
Free  from  doubi  and  faithless  sorrow ; 
God  provideth  for  the  morrow  !  " 


ON  THE   DEATH   OF  A   BROTHER. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  deplore  thee, 
Though  sorrows  and  darkness  encompass  the  tomb ; 

Thy  Saviour  has  passed  through  its  portals  before  thee, 
And  the  lamp  of  His  love  is  thy  guide  through  the 
gloom  ! 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave !  we  no  longer  behold  thee. 
Nor  tread  the  rough  paths  of  the  world  by  thy  side ; 

But  the  wide  arms  of  mercy  are  spread  to  enfold  thee, 
And  sinners  may  die,  for  the  sinless  has  died  ! 

Thou   art  gone  to  the   grave !    and,  its  mansion   for- 
saking, 
Perchance  thy  weak  spirit  in  fear  lingered  long; 


REGINALD    HEBER.  203 

But  the  mild  rays  of  Paradise  beamed  on  thy  waking, 
And  the  sound  which  thou   heardst  was  the  sera- 
phim's song ! 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  deplore 
thee, 
Whose   God    was   thy  ransom,   thy    guardian,    and 
guide ; 
He  gave  thee,  He  took  thee,  and  He  will  restore  thee, 
And  death  has  no  sting,  for  the  Saviour  has  died. 


THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN  AND  HER  SON. 

Wake  not,  oh  mother  !  sounds  of  lamentation  ! 

Weep  not,  oh  widow  !  weep  not  hopelessly  ! 
Strong  is  His  arm,  the  Bringer  of  salvation. 

Strong  is  the  Word  of  God  to  succor  thee  ! 

Bear  forth  the  cold  corpse,  slowly,  slowly  bear  him : 
Hide  his  pale  features  with  the  sable  pall  : 

Chide  not  the  sad  one  wildly  weeping  near  him : 
Widowed  and  childless,  she  has  lost  her  all. 

Why  pause  the  mourners  ?    Who  forbids  our  weeping? 

Who  the  dark  pomp  of  sorrow  has  delayed? 
"  Set  down  the  bier  —  he  is  not  dead  but  sleeping  ! 

"  Young  man,  arise ! "  —  He  spake,  and  was  obeyed  ! 


204  REGI^rALD    HEBER. 

Change  then,  oh  sad  one,  grief  to  exultation : 
Worship  and  fall  before  Messiah's  knee, 

Strong  was  His  arm,  the  Bringer  of  salvation; 
Strong  was  the  Word  of  God  to  succor  thee! 


WHAT   IS  RELIGION?* 

Is  it  to  go  to  church  today, 
To  look  devout  and  seem  to  pray, 
And  ere  tomorrow's  sun  goes  down 
Be  dealing  slander  through  the  town  ? 

Does  every  sanctimonious  face 
Denote  the  certain  reign  of  grace  ? 
Does  not  a  phiz  that  scowls  at  sin 
Oft  veil  hypocrisy  within  ? 

Is  it  to  take  our  daily  walk, 

And  of  our  own  good  deeds  to  talk, 

Yet  often  practice  secret  crime, 

And  thus  misspend  our  precious  time^ 

Is  it  for  sect  and  creed  to  fight, 
To  call  our  zeal  the  rule  of  right, 
When  what  we  wish  is,  at  the  best, 
To  see  our  church  excel  the  rest? 

*  A  juvenile  production. 


REGINALD   HEBER.  205 

Is  it  to  wear  the  Christian  dress, 
And  love  to  all  mankind  profess, 
To  treat  with  scorn  the  humble  poor, 
And  bar  against  them  every  door  ? 

Oh,  no  !  religion  means  not  this, 
Its  fruit  more  sweet  and  fairer  is , 
Its  precept's  this  —  to  others  do 
As  you  would  have  them  do  to  you. 

It  grieves  to  hear  an  ill  report, 
And  scorns  with  human  woes  to  sport. 
Of  others'  deeds  it  speaks  no  ill, 
But  tells  of  good^  or  else  keeps  still. 

And  does  religion  this  impart  ? 
Then  may  its  influence  fill  my  heart ! 
Oh  !  haste  the  blissful,  joyful  day. 
When  all  the  world  may  own  its  sway. 


(BlxiMl}  lurM  Sr0tonmg» 


COWPER'S    GRAVE. 

It  is  a  place  where  poets  crowned 

May  feel  the  heart's  decaying, — 
It  is  a  place  where  happy  saints 

May  weep  amid  their  praying  : 
Yet  let  the  grief  and  humbleness, 

As  low  as  silence,  languish  ! 
Earth  surely  now  may  give  her  calm 

To  whom  she  crave  her  anguish. 

O  poets  !  from  a  maniac's  tongue, 
Was  poured  the  deathless  singing ! 

O  Christians  !  at  your  cross  of  hope, 
A  hopeless  hand  was  clinging! 

O  men  !  this  man,  in  brotherhood. 
Your  weary  paths  beguiling, 

206 


ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING.  207 

Groaned  inly  while  he  taught  you  peace, 
And  died  while  ye  were  smiling. 

And  now,  what  time  ye  all  may  read 

Through  dimming  tears  his  story, 
How  discord  on  the  music  fell 

And  darkness  on  the  glory. 
And  how,  when  one  by  one,  sweet  sounds 

And  wandering  lights  departed, 
He  wore  no  less  a  loving  face 

Because  so  broken-hearted  ; 

He  shall  be  strong  to  sanctify 

The  poet's  high  vocation. 
And  bow  the  meekest  Christian  down 

In  meeker  adoration  ; 
Nor  ever  shall  he  be,  in  praise. 

By  wise  or  good  forsaken  ; 
Named  softly,  as  the  household  name 

Of  one  whom  God  hath  taken. 

With  quiet  sadness  and  no  gloom, 

I  learn  to  think  upon  him. 
With  meekness  that  is  gratefulness 

To  God  whose  heaven  has  won  him  — 
Who  suffered  once  the  madness-cloud, 

To  His  own  love  to  blind  him; 
But  gently  led  the  blind  along 

Where  breath  and  bird  could  find  him ; 


208  ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING. 

And  wrought  within  his  shattered  brain, 

Such  quick  poetic  senses, 
As  hills  have  language  for,  and  stars, 

Harmonious  influences  ! 
The  pulse  of  dew  upon  the  grass 

Kept  his  within  its  number  ; 
And  silent  shadows  from  the  trees 

Refreshed  him  like  a  slumber. 

Wild  timid  hares  were  drawn  from  woods 

To  share  his  home-caresses, 
Uplooking  to  his  human  eyes 

With  sylvan  tendernesses  : 
The  very  world,  by  God's  constraint, 

From  falsehood's  ways  removing, 
Its  women  and  its  men  became 

Beside  him,  true  and  loving. 

But  while  in  blindness  he  remained 

Unconscious  of  the  guiding, 
And  things  provided  came  without 

The  sweet  sense  of  providing, 
He  testified  this  solemn  truth, 

Though  frenzy  desolated  — • 
Nor  man,  nor  nature  satisfy, 

Whom  only  God  created  ! 

Like  a  sick  child  that  knoweth  not 
His  mother  while  she  blesses 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING.  209 

And  drops  upon  his  burning  brow 

The  coolness  of  her  kisses, — 
That  turns  his  fevered  eyes  around  — 

"  My  mother  !   where's  my  mother  V  — 
As  if  such  tender  words  and  looks 

Could  come  from  any  other  !  — 

The  fever  gone,  with  leaps  of  heart, 

He  sees  her  bending  o'er  him  ; 
Her  face  all  pale  from  watchful  love, 

The  unweary  love  she  bore  him  !  — 
Thus,  woke  the  poet  from  the  dream, 

His  life's  long  fever  gave  him. 
Beneath  those  deep  pathetic  Eyes, 

Which  closed  in  death,  to  save  him  I 

Thus  ?  oh,  not  thus  !  no  type  of  earth 

Could  image  that  awaking, 
Wherein  he  scarcely  heard  the  chant 

Of  seraphs,  round  him  breaking. 
Or  felt  the  new  immortal  throb 

Of  soul  from  body  parted  ; 
But  felt  those  eyes  alone,  and  knew 

3Ii/  Saviour  !   not  deserted  ! 

Deserted  !  who  hath  dreamt  that  when 

The  Cross  in  darkness  rested, 
Upon  the  Victim's  hidden  face, 

No  love  was  manifested  ? 


210  ELIZABETH    BARRETT   BROWNING. 

What  frantic  hands  outstretched  have  e'er 

The  atoning  drops  averted, 
What  tears  have  washed  them  from  the  soul. 

That  one  should  be  deserted  1 

Deserted  !  God  could  separate 

From  His  own  essence  rather  : 
And  Adam's  sins  have  swept  between 

The  righteous  Son  and  Father  ; 
Yea,  once,  Immanuel's  orphaned  cry, 

His  universe  hath  shaken  — 
It  went  up  single,  echoless, 

"  My  God,  I  am  forsaken  !  " 

It  went  up  from  the  Holy's  lips 

Amid  His  lost  creation, 
That,  of  the  lost,  no  son  should  use 

Those  words  of  desolation  ; 
That  earth's  worst  frenzies,  marring  hope, 

Should  mar  not  hope's  fruition. 
And  I,  on  Cowper's  grave,  should  see 

His  rapture,  in  a  vision ! 


CHEERFULNESS. 


I  THINK  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 

In  this  fair  world  of  God's.     Had  we  no  hope 

Indeed  beyond  the  zenith  and  the  cope 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING.  211 

Of  yon  gray  blank  of  sky,  we  might  be  fain 

To  muse  upon  eternity's  constraint 

Round  our  aspirant  souls.     But  since  the  scope 

Must  widen  early,  is  it  well  to  droop 

For  a  few  days  consumed  in  loss  and  faint  ? 

O  pusillanimous  Heart,  be  comforted ; 

And  like  a  cheerful  traveller,  take  the  road, 

Singing  beside  the  hedge.     What  if  the  bread 

Be  bitter  in  thine  inn,  and  thou  unshrxi 

To  meet  the  flints  ?     At  least  it  may  be  said, 

"  Because  the  way  is  short,  I  thank  Thee,  God !  " 


DKte  MtMl  l0tou5* 


GOD  IS  LOVE. 

....  Or  is  our  being's  only  end  and  aim 
To  add  new  glories  to  our  Maker's  name, 
As  the  poor  insect,  shrivelling  in  the  blaze, 
Lends  a  faint  sparkle  to  its  streaming  rays  ? 
Does  earth  send  upwards  to  the  Eternal's  ear 
The  mingled  discords  of  her  jarring  sphere 
To  swell  His  anthem,  while  Creation  rings 
With  notes  of  anguish  from  its  shattered  strings? 
Is  it  for  this  the  immortal  Artist  means 
These  conscious,  throbbing,  agonized  machines  ? 

Dark  is  the  soul  whose  sullen  creed  can  bind 
In  chains  like  these  the  all-embracing  mind ; 
No !  two-faced  bigot !  thou  dost  ill  reprove 
The  sensual    selfish,  yet  benignant  Jove, 

213 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES.  213 

And  praise  a  tyrant  throned  in  lonely  pride, 
Who  loves  himself,  and  cares  for  nought  beside ; 
Who  gave  thee,  summoned  from  primeval  night, 
A  thousand  laws,  and  not  a  single  right ; 
A  heart  to  feel  and  quivering  nerves  to  thrill, 
The  sense  of  wrong,  the  death-defying  will ; 
Who  girt  thy  senses  with  this  goodly  frame. 
Its  earthly  glories  and  its  orbs  of  flame, 
Not  for  thyself,  unworthy  of  a  thought. 
Poor  helpless  victim  of  a  life  unsought. 
But  all  for  him,  unchanging  and  supreme. 
The  heartless  centre  of  thy  frozen  scheme! 

Trust  not  the  teacher  with  his  lying  scroll. 
Who  tears  the  charter  of  thy  shuddering  soul  ; 
The  God  of  love,  who  gave  the  life  that  warms 
All  breathing  dust  in  all  its  varied  forms. 
Asks  not  the  tribute  of  a  world  like  this 
To  fill  the  measure  of  His  perfect  bliss. 

Though  winged  with  life  through  all  its  radiant  shores, 

Creation  flowed  with  unexhausted  stores. 

Cherub  and  seraph  had  not  yet  enjoyed! 

For  this  He  called  thee  from  the  quickening  void! 

Nor  this  alone  ;  a  larger  gift  was  thine, 

A  mightier  purpose  swelled  His  vast  design  ; 

Thought ;  conscience ;  will  ;  to  make  them  all  thine 

own 
He  rent  a  pillar  from  the  eternal  throne  ! 


214  OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES. 

Made  in  His  image,  thou  must  nobly  dare 

The  thorny  crown  of  sovereignty  to  share ; 

With  eye  uplifted  it  is  thine  to  view 

From  thine  own  centre,  Heaven's  o'erarching  blue  ; 

So  round  thy  heart  a  beaming  circle  lies 

No  fiend  can  blot,  no  hypocrite  disguise. 

From  all  its  orbs  one  cheering  voice  is  heard, 

Full  to  thine  ear  it  bears  the  Father's  word. 

Now,  as  in  Eden  where  His  first-born  trod : 

"  Seek  thine  own  welfare,  true  to  man  and  God  !  " 

Think  not  too  meanly  of  thy  low  estate  ; 
Thou  hast  a  choice  ;  to  choose  is  to  create  ! 
Remember  whose  the  sacred  lips  that  tell, 
Angels  approve  thee  when  thy  choice  is  well ; 
Remember,  One,  a  judge  of  righteous  men, 
Swore  to  spare  Sodom  if  she  held  but  ten  ! 
Use  well  the  freedom  which  the  Master  gave, 
(Think'st  thou  that  Heaven  can  tolerate  a  slave?  ) 
And  He  who  made  thee  to  be  just  and  true 
Will  bless  thee,  love  thee,  —  ay,  respect  thee  too ! 


1688-1744. 


VnirUE  THE    SOLE   HAPPINESS  HERE   AND 
HEREAFrER. 

Know  then  this  truth  —  (enough  for  man  to  know!  )• 

Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below. 

The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands  still, 

And  tastes  the  good  without  the  fall  to  ill ; 

Where  only  merit  constant  pay  receives, 

Is  blest  in  what  it  takes,  and  what  it  gives  ; 

The  joy  unequalled,  if  its  end  it  gain. 

And  if  it  lose,  attended  with  no  pain : 

Without  satiety,  though  e'er  so  blest, 

And  but  more  relished  as  the  more  distressed  : 

The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  Folly  wears, 

Less  pleasing  far  than  Virtue's  very  tears  ; 

Good,  from  each  object,  from  each  place  acquired^ 

Forever  exercised,  yet  never  tired  \ 

215 


216  ALEXANDER    POPE. 

Never  elated,  while  one  man's  oppressed  ; 
Never  dejected,  while  another's  blest ; 
And  where  no  wants,  no  wishes  can  remain. 
Since  but  to  wish  more  virtue,  is  to  gain. 

See  the  sole  bliss  Heaven  could  on  all  bestow ! 

Which  who  but  feels  can  taste,  but  thinks  can  know 

Yet  poor  with  fortune,  and  with  learning  blind. 

The  bad  must  miss  :  the  good,  iir/.r^ught,  will  find  ; 

Slave  to  no  sect,  who  takes  no  private  road, 

But  looks  through  Nature,  up  to  Nature's  God, — 

Pursues  that  chain,  which  links  th'  immense  design, 

Joins  Heaven  and  Earth,  and  mortal  and  divine,  — 

Sees  that  no  being  any  bliss  can  know, 

But  touches  some  above  and  some  below,  — 

Learns  from  this  union  of  the  rising  whole 

The  first,  last  purpose  of  the  human  soul. 

And  knows  where  faith,  law,  morals,  all  began. 

All  end,  —  in  love  of  God  and  love  of  man  ! 

For  him  alon-e,  Hope  leads  from  goal  to  goal 

And  opens  still,  and  opens  on  his  soul  : 

Till  lengthened  on  to  Faith,  and  unconfined. 

It  pours  the  bliss  that  fills  up  all  the  mind. 

He  sees  why  Nature  plants  in  man  alone 

Hope  of  known  bliss,  and  faith  in  bliss  unknown  : 

(Nature,  whose  dictates  to  no  other  kind 

Are  given  in  vain,  but  what  they  seek  they  find  ;) 

Wise  is  her  present ;  she  connects  in  this 

His  greatest- virtue  with  his  greatest  bliss  ; 

At  once  his  own  bright  prospect  to  be  blest. 

And  strongest  motive  to  assist  the  rest. 


ALEXANDER    POPE.  217 

Self-love  thus  pushed  to  social,  to  divine, 

Gives  thee  to  make  thy  neighbor's  blessing  thine. 

Is  this  too  little  for  the  boundless  heart  ? 

Extend  it  —  let  thy  enemies  have  part. 

Grasp  the  whole  world  of  reason,  life,  and  sense, 

In  one  close  system  of  benevolence : 

Happier  as  kinder,  in  whate'er  degree, 

And  height  of  bliss  but  height  of  charity. 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts  ;  but  human  soul 
Must  rise  from  individual  to  the  whole. 
Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake; 
The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds. 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads  , 
Friend,  parent,  neighbor,  first  it  will  embrace  ; 
His  country  next ;  and  next  all  human  race; 
Wide  and  more  wide,  th'  o'erflowings  of  the  mind 
Take  every  creature  in,  of  every  kind  ; 
Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty  blest, 
And  Heaven  beholds  its  imaore  in  his  breast. 


THE  UNIVERSAL    PRAYER. 

Father  of  all !  in  every  age. 
In  every  clime  adored. 

By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 


218  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

Thou  great  First  Cause  !  least  understood ; 

Who  all  my  sense  confined, 
To  know  but  this,  —  that  Thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind  ;  — 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill  ; 
And,  binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 

Let  free  the  human  will  ;  — 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do. 
This  teach  me,  more  than  hell,  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heaven,  pursue. 

What  blessings  Thy  free  bounty  gives 

Let  me  not  cast  away  ; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives ; 

T'  enjoy  is  to  obey. 

Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 

Thy  goodness  let  ipe  bound  ; 
Or  think  Thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 

Presume  Thy  bolts  to  throw  ; 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 

On  each  I  judge  Thy  foe. 


ALEXANDER    POPE.  219 

If  I  am  right,  Thy  grace  impart 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 
If  I  am  wrong,  O  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way. 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride 

Or  impious  discontent, 
At  aught  Thy  wisdom  has  denied. 

Or  aught  Thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo. 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see  ; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  —  not  wholly  so. 
Since  quickened  by  Thy  breath, — 

O  !  lead  me,  whereso'er  I  go, 
Through  this  day's  life  or  death. 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot ; 

All  else  beneath  the  Sun 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestowed  or  not ; 

And  let  Thy  will  be  done ! 

To  Thee  whose  temple  is  all  space, 

Whose  altar  earth,  sea,  skies  ! 
One  chorus  let  all  Being  raise, 

All  nature's  incense  rise  ! 


1794-1835. 


A  DIRGE. 

Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
Young  spirit !  rest  thee  now  ; 

Even  while  with  us  thy  footstep  trod 
His  seal  was  on  thy  brow. 

Dust,  to  its  narrow  house  beneath ! 

Soul  to  its  place  on  high  !  — 
They  that  have  seen  thy  look  in  death. 

No  more  may  fear  to  die. 

Lone  are  the  paths,  and  sad  the  bowers. 
Whence  thy  meek  sraile  is  gone  ; 

But  oh  !  —  a  brighter  home  than  ours, 
In  heaven  is  now  thine  own. 

220 


MRS.    HEMANS.  221 

THE  LILIES    OF  THE   FIELD. 

"  Consider  th£  lilies  of  the  field." 

Flowers  !  when  the  Saviour's  calm  benignant  eye 
Fell  on  your  gentle  beauty  —  when  from  you 
That  heavenly  lesson  for  all  hearts  He  drew, 

Eternal,  universal  as  the  sky  — 

Then,  m  the  bosom  of  your  purity, 
A  voice  He  set,  as  in  a  temple-shrine. 

That  life's  quick  travellers  ne'er  might  pass  you  by 
Unwarned  of  that  sweet  oracle  divine. 

And  though  too  oft  its  low,  celestial  sound. 

By  the  harsh  notes  of  work-day  care  is  drowned, 

And  the  loud  steps  of  vain  unlistening  Haste, 
Yet,  the  great  ocean  hath  no  tone  of  power 
Mightier  to  reach  the  soul,  in  thought's  hushed  hour 

Than  yours,  ye  Lilies  !  chosen  thus  and  graced ! 


THE  BIRDS   OF  THE   AIR. 

"  And  behold  the  birds  of  the  air." 

Ye  too,  the  free  and  fearless  birds  of  air. 

Were  charged  that  hour,  on  missionary  wing, 

The  same  bright  lesson  o'er  the  seas  to  bear, 

Heaven-guided  wanderers  with  the  winds  of  spring ! 

Sing  on,  before  the  storm  and  after,  sing  ! 
And  call  us  to  your  echoing  woods  away 


222  MKS.    HEMANS. 

From  worldly  cares  ;  and  bid  our  spirits  bring 
Faith  to  imbibe  deep  wisdom  from  your  lay. 
So  may  those  blessed  vernal  strains  renew 
Childhood,  a  childhood  yet  more  pure  and  true 

E'en  than  the  first,  within  the  awakened  mind  ; 
While  sweetly,  joyously,  they  tell  of  life, 
That  knows  no  doubts,  no  questionings,  no  strife, 
But  hang&  upon  its  God,  unconsciously  resigned. 


ANGEL  VISITS. 


Are  ye  forever  to  your  skies  departed  ? 

Oh  !  will  ye  visit  this  dim  world  no  more? 
Ye,  whose  bright  wings  a  solemn  splendour  darted 

Through  Eden's  fresh  and  flowering  shades  of  yore  1 
Now  are  the  fountains  dried  on  that  sweet  spot, 
And  ye  —  our  faded  earth  beholds  you  not ! 

But  may  ye  not,  unseen,  around  us  hover, 

With  gentle  promptings  and  sweet  influence  yet, 

Though  the  fresh  glory  of  those  days  be  over, 

When,  'midst  the  palm-trees,  man  your  footsteps  met? 

Are  ye  not  near  when  faith  and  hope  rise  high, 

When  love,  by  strength,  o'ermasters  agony  1 


1684-1765. 


FROM   THE   "NIGHT  THOUGHTS." 

Why  then  their  loss  deplore,  that  are  not  lost? 
Why  wanders  wretched  thought  their  tombs  around. 
In  infidel  distress  ?     Are  angels  there  ? 

*  The  psychology  of  Young  is  at  variance  with  his  theology. 
The  former  is  liberal  and  noble ;  leading  to  inferences  directly  hos- 
tile to  the  doctrine  of  any  punishment  hereafter  apart  from  that 
which  must  be  self-inflicted  by  the  soul  until  it  conforms  itself  to 
the  divine  laws.  Truly  and  forcibly  has  Young  remarked,  in  his 
Preface  to  Night  the  Sixth,  —  "  The  dispute  about  religion,  and  the 
practice  of  it,  seldom  go  together.  The  shorter,  therefore,  the  dis- 
pute, the  better.  I  think  it  may  be  reduced  to  this  single  question, 
Is  man  ivxmortal,  or  is  he  not?  If  he  is  not,  all  our  disputes  are 
mere  amusements,  or  trials  of  skill.  *  *  I  have  been  long  per- 
suaded that  most,  if  not  all,  our  infidels  are  supported  in  their  de- 
plorable error  by  some  doubt  of  their  immortality  at  the  bottom. 
And  I  am  satisfied,  that  men,  once  thoroughly  convinced  of  their 
immortality,  are  not  far  from  being  Christians." 

223 


224  EDWARD    YOUNa. 

Slumbers,  raked  up  in  dust,  ethereal  fire?  — 
They  live  !  they  greatly  live  —  a  life,  on  earth 
Unkindled,  unconceived  ;  and  from  an  eye 
Of  tenderness  let  heavenly  pity  fall 
On  me,  more  justly  numbered  with  the  dead.  . 
All,  all  on  earth  is  shadow^  all  beyond 
Is  substance ;  the  reverse  is  Folly's  creed. 
How  solid  all,  where  change  shall  be  no  more ! 
This  is  the  bud  of  being,  the  dim  dawn, 
The  twilight  of  our  day,  the  vestibule  : 
Life's  theatre  as  yet  is  shut,  and  Death, 
Strong  Death  alone,  can  heave  the  massy  bar, 
This  gross  impediment  of  clay  remove, 
And  make  us  embryos  of  existence  free  ! 


Life  makes  the  soul  dependent  on  the  dust. 

Death  gives  her  wings  to  mount  above  the  spheres. 

Through  chinks,  styled  organs,  dim  life  peeps  at  light, 

Death  bursts  th'  involving  cloud,  and  all  is  day  ; 

All  eye,  all  ear,  the  disembodied  power. 

Death  h^s  feigned  evils.  Nature  shall  not  feel ; 

Life,  ill  substantial.  Wisdom  cannot  shun. 

Is  not  the  mighty  mind, —  that  son  of  Heaven  — 

By  tyrant  Life,  dethroned,  imprisoned,  pained  1 

By  Decdh  enlarged,  ennobled,  deified  ? 

Death  but  entombs  the  body  ;  Life  the  soul  !  .  .  .  . 

Death  is  the  crown  of  life 

Death  wounds  to  cure  :  we  fall,  we  rise,  we  reign  I 
Spring  from  our  fetters,  fasten  in  the  skies. 


EDWARD    YOUNG.  335 

Where  blooming  Eden  withers  in  our  sight 
Death  gives  us  more  than  was  in  Eden  lost! 
This  king  of  terrors  is  the  prince  of  peace. 
When  shall  I  die  to  vanity,  pain,  death  1 
When  shall  I  die  ?  —  When  shall  I  live  forever  ? 


0  thou  great  Arbiter  of  life  and  death  ! 
Nature's  immortal,  immaterial  Sun  ! 
Whose  all-prolific  beam  late  called  me  forth 
From  darkness,  teeming  darkness,  where  I  lay, 
The  worm's  inferior,  and,  in  rank,  beneath 
The  dust  I  tread  on,  high  to  bear  my  brow, 
To  drink  the  spirit  of  the  golden  day, 

And  triumph  in  existence ;  and  could  know 
No  motive  but  my  bliss  ;  and  hast  ordained 
A  rise  in  blessing  !  — With  the  patriarch's  joy, 
Thy  call  I  follow  to  the  land  unknown  ; 

1  trust  in  Thee,  and  know  in  whom  I  trust ;  * 
Or  life,  or  death  is  equal ;  neither  weighs ; 
All  weight  is  this :  O  let  me  live  to  Thee  \ 


Angels  are  men  in  lighter  habit  clad.  .  .  . 
Nor  are  our  brothers  thoughtless  of  their  kin ; 
Yet  absent,  but  not  absent  from  their  love. 
Michael  has  fought  our  battles  ;  Raphael  sung 
Our  triumphs  ;  Gabriel  on  our  errands  flown, 
Sent  by  the  Sovereign :  and  are  these,  O  man ! 
Thy  friends,  thy  warm  allies,  and  thou  (shame  burn 
Thy  cheek  to  cinder  !)  rival  to  the  brute  ? 


226  EDWARD    YOUNG. 

Religion  !  Providence  !  an  after-state  ! 
Here  is  firm  footing  ;  here  is  solid  rock  ! 
This  can  support  us  ;  all  is  sea  besides  ; 
Sinks  under  us  ;  bestorms,  and  then  devours  ! 
His  hand  the  good  man  fastens  on  the  skies, 
And  bids  Earth  roll,  nor  feels  her  idle  whirl. 


The  soul  of  man,  a  native  of  the  skies 
High-born  and  free,  her  freedom  should  maintain 
Unsold,  unmortgaged  for  earth's  little  bribes. 
Th'  illustrious  stranger  in  this  foreign  land, 
Like  strangers,  jealous  of  her  dignity, 
Studious  of  home,  and  ardent  to  return, 
Of  earth  auspicious,  earth's  enchanted  cup 
With  cool  reserve  light  touching,  should  indulge 
On  immortality  her  godlike  taste, 

There  take  large  draughts  ;  make  her  chief  banquet 
there. 


Why  is  a  wish  far  dearer  than  a  crown  1 

That  wish  accomplished,  why,  the  grave  of  bliss? 

Because,  in  the  great  future  buried  deep, 

Beyond  our  plans  of  empire  and  renown. 

Lies  all  that  man  with  ardor  should  pursue, 

And  He  who  made  him  bent  him  to  the  right.  — 

Man's  heart  th'  Almighty  to  the  future  sets, 

By  secret  and  inviolable  springs  ; 

And  makes  his  hope  his  sublunary  joy.  .  .  . 

Why  happiness  pursued,  though  never  found  1 


EDWARD    YOFXG.  227 

Man's  thirst  of  happiness  declares  it  is, 
(For  Nature  never  gravitates  to  nought) ; 
That  thirst  unquenched  declares  it  is  not  here. 


'Tis  immortality  deciphers  man, 

And  opens  all  the  mysteries  of  his  make. 

Without  it  half  his  instincts  are  a  riddle  : 

Without  it  all  his  virtues  are  a  dream. 

His  very  crimes  attest  his  dignity  ; 

His  sateless  thirst  of  pleasure,  gold  and  fame, 

Declares  him  born  for  blessings  infinite: 

What  less  than  infinite  makes  un-absurd 

Passions,  which  all  on  earth  but  more  inflames  ? 

—  Fierce  passions,  so  mismeasured  to  this  scene, 

Stretched  out,  like  eagles'  wings,  beyond  our  nest, 

Far,  far  beyond  the  worth  of  all  below, 

For  Earth  too  large,  —  presage  a  nobler  flight, 

And  evidence  our  title  to  the  skies  ! 


Nothing  is  dead  ;  nay,  nothing  sleeps  ;  each  soul, 

That  ever  animated  human  clay, 

Now  wakes ;  is  on  the  wing  :  and  where,  O  where 

Will  the  swarm  settle  ?  —  When  the  trumpet's  call, 

As  sounding  brass,  collects  us,  round  Heaven's  throne 

Conglobed,  we  bask  in  everlasting  day, 

(Paternal  splendor  !)  and  adhere  forever. 

Had  not  the  soul  this  outlet  to  the  skies, 

In  this  vast  vessel  of  the  universe. 


228  EDWARD    YOUNG. 

How  should  we  gasp,  as  in  an  empty  void ! 
How  in  the  pangs  of  famished  hope  expire ' 


Who  tells  me  he  denies  his  soul  immortal, 
Whatever  his  boast,  has  told  me,  he's  a  knave. 
His  duty  'tis  to  love  himself  alone ; 
Nor  care,  though  mankind  perish,  if  he  smiles. 
Who  thinks,  ere  long  the  man  shall  ivholly  die, 
Is  dead  already  ;  nought  but  brute  survives. 


A  Deity  believed,  is  joy  begun  ; 

A  Deity  adored,  is  joy  advanced  ; 

A  Deity  beloved,  is  joy  matured. 

Each  branch  of  piety  delight  inspires  ; 

Faith  builds  a  bridge  from  this  world  to  the  next, 

O'er  death's  dark  gulf,  and  all  its  horror  hides  ; 

Praise,  the  sweet  exhalation  of  our  joy, 

That  joy  exalts,  and  makes  it  sweeter  still  ; 

Prayer  ardent  opens  Heaven,  lets  down  a  stream 

Of  glory  on  the  consecrated  hour 

Of  man,  in  audience  with  the  Deity. 

Who  worships  the  Great  God,  that  instant  joins 

The  first  in  Heaven,  and  sets  his  foot  on  Hell. 


The  soul  of  man  was  made  to  walk  the  skies ; 
Delightful  outlet  of  her  prison  here! 
Thcre^  disencumbered  from  her  chains,  the  ties 
Of  joys  terrestrial,  she  can  rove  at  large; 


EDWARD    YOUNG.      "  229 

There^  freely  can  respire,  dilate,  extend. 

In  full  proportion  let  loose  all  her  powers ; 

And,  undeluded,  grasp  at  something  great. 

Nor,  as  a  stranger,  does  she  wander  there ; 

But,  wonderful  herself,  through  wonder  strays  ; 

Contemplating  their  grandeur,  finds  her  own  ; 

Dives  deep  in  their  economy  divine. 

Sits  high  in  judgment  on  their  various  laws, 

And,  like  a  master,  judges  not  amiss. 

Hence,  greatly  pleased,  and  justly  proud,  the  soul 

Grows  conscious  of  her  birth  celestial ;  breathes 

More  life,  more  vigor,  in  her  native  air ; 

And  feels  herself  at  home  among  the  stars  I 


1784. 


CAPACITY  OP   MAN   POR   PROGRESS. 

"This  dull,  dark  strife  with  unillumined  souls, 

Ending  not  with  the  day,  but  every  morn 

Afresh  returning  for  another  day  — 

Such  warfare  makes  at  last  the  noblest  mind 

Heavy  and  hopeless.     Earnestly  I  wish 

'Twere  done,  that  1  might  rest  and  silent  be !  " 

So  speak  you.     But  distinguish  well  the  truth. 

The  conflict  is  not  gloomy.     Grieved  you  see 

Around  you  but  a  dull  distracted  house. 

The  old  false  world  with  evil  deeds,  wrong  words, 

Heavily  pressing  on  all  noble  minds. 

The  conflict  is  right  clear,  in  daylight  waged, 

With  brightness  ever  pressing  on  the  gloom  ! 

Nor  is  your  conflict  with  irrationals 

230 


LEOPOLD    SCHEFFER.  231 

(For  all  would  wiser  be,  and  every  one 

Has  faculties  for  wiser  —  better  —  growing) : 

See,  then,  your  only  conflict  is  with  men, 

And  your  sole  strife  is  to  defend  and  teach 

The  unillumined,  who,  without  such  care, 

Must  dwindle.     Every  unenlightened  man 

Commends  himself  to  you,  even  as  your  child. 

How  easily  for  him  and  for  yourself 

Life's  burdens  may  be  lightened,  by  your  words 

Opening  the  spring  of  truth  in  his  own  breast, 

And  cleansing  out  the  root  of  all  his  errors ; 

Destroying,- even  with  a  single  word, 

A  coming  harvest  of  injurious  weeds  ! 

If,  then,  the  Better  never  must  grow  weary, 

But  always  think  of  better,  and.  fulfil  it, 

How  shall  the  Wise  be  weary  of  his  task 

To  show  the  right,  and  for  the  truth  contend? 

How  shall  the  heart  of  the  good  man  grow  weary, 

Though  hand  and  tongue  are  worn  out  in  his  work  ? 

And  how  can  gentleness  be  ever  weary  ? 

(For  all  true  love  is  gentle,  falling  on 

Men's  souls  as  gentle  rains  upon  the  earth). 

How  can  you  e'er  grow  weary  of  the  truth? 

Weary  of  gentleness  and  genuine  love  ? 

Be  firm  and  happy,  therefore,  in  the  strife  ! 

And  keep  love  in  your  heart  all  life's  day  long, 

Till,  like  the  eternal  stars,  its  beams  are  spread. 


1679-1717. 


THE   HERMIT.* 

Far  m  a  wild,  unknown  to  public  view, 
From  youth  to  age,  a  reverend  hermit  grew  ; 
The  moss  his  bed,  the  cave  his  humble  cell. 
His  food  the  fruits,  his  drink  the  crystal  well ; 
Remote  from  men,  with  God  he  passed  his  days, 
Prayer  all  his  business,  all  his  pleasure  praise. 

A  life  so  sacred,  such  serene  repose, 
Seemed  heaven  itself,  till  one  suggestion  rose  — 
That  vice  should  triumph,  virtue,  vice  obey  ; 
This  sprung  some  doubt  of  Providence's  sway ; 

*  The  doctrine  of  an  overruling  Providence,  so  consistent  mth 
that  of  the  disciplinary  object  of  life  and  the  beneficent  intentions 
of  the  Creator  towards  man,  here  and  hereafter,  is  happily  illustrated 
in  this  poem.  Indeed,  it  is  impossible  to  reconcile  the  notion  of  a 
special  Providence,  here  set  forth,  with  the  creed,  which  would 
make  the  Almighty  consign  any  human  soul  to  everlasting  perdition- 

232 


THOMAS    PAEKELL.  233 

His  hopes  no  more  a  certain  prospect  boast, 
And  all  the  tenor  of  his  soul  is  lost. 
So  when  a  smooth  expanse  receives  impressed 
Calm  nature's  image  on  its  watery  breast, 
Down  bend  the  banks,  the  trees  depending  grow, 
And  skies  beneath  with  answering  colors  glow; 
But,  if  a  stone  the  gentle  sea  divide, 
Swift  ruffling  circles  curl  on  every  side, 
And  glimmering  fragments  of  a  broken  sun. 
Banks,  trees  and  skies,  in  thick  disorder  run. 

To  clear  this  doubt,  to  know  the  world  by  sight. 
To  find  if  books,  or  swains,  report  it  right,  — 
For  yet  by  swains  alone  the  world  he  knew. 
Whose  feet  came  wandering  o'er  the  nightly  dew,  -— 
He  quits  his  cell  ;  the  pilgrim  staff  he  boare. 
And  fixed  the  scallop  in  his  hat  before ; 
Then,  with  the  sun  a  rising  journey  went. 
Sedate  to  think,  and  watching  each  event. 

The  morn  was  wasted  in  the  pathless  grass. 
And  long  and  lonesome  was  the  wild  to  pass  ; 
But  when  the  southern  sun  had  warmed  the  day, 
A  youth  came  posting  o'er  a  crossing  way. 
His  raiment  decent,  his  complexion  fair, 
And  soft  in  graceful  ringlets  waved  his  hair. 
Then,  near  approaching,  "  Father,  hail  !  "  he  cried ; 
And,  "  Hail,  my  son  !  "  the  reverend  sire  replied. 
Words  followed  words,  from  question  answer  flowed, 
And  talk,  of  various  kind,  deceived  the  road  ; 
Till,  each  with  other  pleased,  and  loath  to  part, 
While  in  their  age  they  differ,  join  in  heart. 


234  THOMAS    PARNELL. 

Thus  stands  an  aged  elm,  in  ivy  bound, 
Thus  youthful  ivy  clasps  an  elm  around. 

Now  sank  the  sun  ;  the  closing  hour  of  day 
Came  onward,  mantled  o'er  with  sober  gray  ; 
Nature  in  silence  bade  the  world  repose. 
When,  near  the  road,  a  stately  palace  rose. 
There,  by  the  moon,  through  ranks  of  trees  they  pass, 
Whose  verdure  crowned  their  sloping  sides  of  grass. 
It  chanced  the  noble  master  of  the  dome 
Still  made  his  house  the  wandering  stranger's  home ; 
Yet  still  the  kindness,  from  a  thirst  of  praise, 
Proved  the  vain  flourish  of  expensive  ease. 
The  pair  arrive  ;  the  liveried  servants  wait ; 
Their  lord  receives  them  at  the  pompous  gate ; 
The  table  groans  with  costly  piles  of  food, 
And  all  is  more  than  hospitably  good. 
Then  led  to  rest,  the  day's  long  toil  they  drown, 
Deep  sunk  in  sleep,  and  silk,  and  heaps  of  down. 

At  length  'tis  morn,  and  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
Along  the  wide  canals  the  zephyrs  play  ; 
Fresh  o'er  the  gay  parterres  the  breezes  creep, 
And  shake  the  neighboring  wood,  to  banish  sleep. 
Up  rise  the  guests,  obedient  to  the  call, 
An  early  banquet  decked  the  splendid  hall  ; 
Rich,  luscious  wine  a  golden  goblet  graced, 
Which  the  kind  master  forced  the  guests  to  taste. 
Then,  pleased  and  thankful,  from  the  porch  they  go, 
And,  but  the  landlord,  none  had  cause  for  woe  ; 
His  cup  was  vanished ;  for,  in  secret  guise. 
The  younger  guest  purloined  the  glittering  prize. 


THOMAS   PARNELL.  235 

As  one  who  spies  a  serpent  in  his  way, 
Glistening  and  basking  in  the  summer  ray, 
Disordered  stops  to  shun  the  danger  near, 
Then  walks  with  faintness  on,  and  looks  with  fear ; 
So  seemed  the  sire,  when,  far  upon  the  road. 
The  shining  spoil  his  wily  partner  showed. 
He  stopped  with  silence,  walked  with  trembling  heartj 
And  much  he  wished,  but  durst  not  ask,  to  part; 
Murmuring,  he  lifts  his  eyes,  and  thinks  it  hard, 
Th^t  generous  actions  meet  a  base  reward. 

While  thus  they  pass,  the  sun  his  glory  shrouds, 
The  changing  skies  hang  out  their  sable  clouds  ; 
A  sound  in  air  presaged  approaching  rain, 
And  beasts  to  covert  scud  across  the  plain. 
Warned  by  the  signs,  the  wandering  pair  retreat, 
To  seek  for  shelter  at  a  neighboring  seat. 
'Twas  built  with  turrets  on  a  rising  ground. 
And  strong,  and  large,  and  unimproved  around  ; 
Its  owner's  temper,  timorous  and  severe. 
Unkind  and  griping,  caused  a  desert  there. 

As  near  the  miser's  heavy  door  they  drew, 
Fierce  rising  gusts  with  sudden  fury  blew ; 
The  nimble  lightning,  mixed  with  showers,  began. 
And  o'er  their  heads  loud  rolling  thunders  ran. 
Here  long  they  knock,  but  knock  or  call  in  vain, 
Driven  by  the  wind,  and  battered  by  the  rain. 
At  length  some  pity  warmed  the  master's  breast,— 
'Twas  then  his  threshold  first  received  a  guest ;  — 
Slow  creaking  turns  the  door  with  jealous  care, 
And  half  he  welcomes  in  the  shivering  pair ; 


236  THOMAS    PARNELL. 

One  frugal  fagot  lights  the  naked  walls, 
And  nature's  fervor  through  their  limbs  recalls; 
Bread  of  the  coarsest  sort,  with  eager  wine, 
Each  hardly  granted,  served  them  both  to  dine ; 
And  when  the  tempest  first  appeared  to  cease, 
A  ready  warning  bade  them  part  in  peace. 

With  still  remark,  the  pondering  hermit  viewed, 
In  one  so  rich,  a  life  so  poor  and  rude. 
"  And  why  should  such,  within  himself,"  he  cried, 
"  Lock  the  lost  wealth  a  thousand  want  beside  ?  " 
But  what  new  marks  of  wonder  soon  take  place 
In  every  settling  feature  of  his  face. 
When  from  his  vest,  the  young  companion  bore 
That  cup,  the  generous  landlord  owned  before, 
And  paid  profusely,  with  the  precious  bowl. 
The  stinted  kindness  of  this  churlish  soul ! 

But  now  the  clouds  in  airy  tumult  fly ; 
The  sun,  emerging,  opes  an  azure  sky  ; 
A  fresher  green  the  smelling  leaves  display, 
And,  glittering  as  they  tremble,  cheer  the  day  ; 
The  weather  courts  them  from  the  poor  retreat. 
And  the  glad  master  bolts  the  wary  gate. 

While  hence  they  walk,  the  pilgrim's  bosom  wrought 
With  all  the  travail  of  uncertain  thought ; 
His  partner's  acts  without  their  cause  appear, 
'Twas  there  a  vice,  and  seemed  a  madness  here; 
Detesting  that,  and  pitying  this,  he  goes. 
Lost  and  confounded  with  the  various  shows. 

Now  night's  dim  shades  again  involve  the  sky, 
Again  the  wanderers  want  a  place  to  lie  ; 


THOMAS   PARJfELL.  237 

Again  they  search,  and  find  a  lodging  nigh  ; 
The  soil  improved  around,  the  mansion  neat, 
And  neither  poorly  low,  nor  idly  great : 
It  seeme^I  to  speak  its  master's  turn  of  mind. 
Content,  and  not  for  praise,  but  virtue,  kind. 

Hither  the  walkers  turn  their  weary  feet. 
Then  bless  the  mansion,  and  the  master  greet. 
Their  greeting  fair,  bestowed  with  modest  guise, 
The  courteous  master  hears,  and  thus  replies : 

"  Without  a  vain,  without  a  grudging  heart, 
To  Him  who  gives  us  all,  I  yield  a  part; 
From  Him  you  come,  from  Him  accept  it  here, 
A  frank  and  sober,  more  than  costly  cheer  !  " 
He  spoke,  and  bade  the  welcome  table  spread  ; 
They  talk  of  virtue  till  the  time  of  bed  ; 
When  the  grave  household  round  his  hall  repair, 
Warned  by  a  bell,  and  close  the  hours  with  prayer. 

At  length  the  world,  renewed  by  calm  repose. 
Was  strong  for  toil  :  the  dappled  morn  arose  ; 
Before  the  pilgrims  part,  the  younger  crept 
Near  the  closed  cradle,  where  an  infant  slept. 
And  writhed  its  neck  ;  the  landlord's  little  pride  — 
O,  strange   return  !  —  grew    black,  and    gasped,    and 

died. 
Horror  of  horrors  !  what !  his  only  son  ! 
How  looked  our  hermit  when  the  fact  was  done ! 
Not  hell,  though  hell's  black  jaws  in  sunder  part, 
And  breathe  blue  fire,  could  more  assault  his  heart. 

Confused,  and  struck  with  silence  at  the  deed, 
He  flies,  but,  trembling,  fails  to  fly  with  speed. 


238  THOMAS    PARNELL. 

His  Steps  the  youth  pursues ;  the  country  lay 
Perplexed  with  roads  ;  a  servant  showed  the  vi  ay ; 
A  river  crossed  the  path  ;  the  passage  o'er 
Was  nice  to  find  ;  the  servant  trod  before  ; 
Long  arms  of  oak  an  open  bridge  supplied, 
And  deep  the  waves  beneath  them  bending  glide. 
The  youth,  who  seemed  to  watch  a  time  to  sin, 
Approached  the  careless  guide,  and  thrust  him  in; 
Plunging  he  falls,  and,  rising,  lifts  his  head, 
Then  flashing  turns,  and  sinks  among  the  dead. 

Wild  sparkling  rage  inflames  the  father's  eyes. 
He  bursts  the  bonds  of  fear,  and  madly  cries, 
"  Detested  wretch !  "  —  but  scarce  his  speech  began, 
When  the  strange  partner  seemed  no  longer  man  ! 
His  youthful  face  grew  more  serenely  sweet, 
His  robe  turned  white,  and  flowed  upon  his  feet ; 
Fair  rounds  of  radiant  points  invest  his  hair. 
Celestial  odors  breathe  through  purpled  air, 
And  wings,  whose  colors  glittered  on  the  day, 
Wide  at  his  back  their  gradual  plumes  display  ; 
The  form  ethereal  bursts  upon  his  sight. 
And  moves  in  all  the  majesty  of  light. 

Though  loud  at  first  the  pilgrim's  passion  grew, 
Sudden  he  gazed,  and  wist  not  what  to  do  ; 
Surprise,  in  secret  chains,  his  words  suspends, 
And  in  a  calm  his  settling  temper  ends. 
But  silence  here  the  beauteous  angel  broke, — 
The  voice  of  music  ravished  as  he  spoke  :  — 

"  Thy  prayer,  thy  praise,  thy  life  to  vice  unknown, 
In  sweet  memorial  rise  before  the  throne  , 


THOMAS   PARNELL.  239 

These  charms  success  in  our  bright  region  find, 
And  force  an  angel  down  to  calm  thy  mind. 
For  this  commissioned,  I  forsook  the  sky ;  — 
Nay,  cease  to  kneel,  thy  fellow-servant  I. 

"  Then  know  the  truth  of  government  divine, 
And  let  these  scruples  be  no  longer  thine. 

"  The  Maker  justly  claims  that  world  he  made; 
In  this  the  right  of  Providence  is  laid  ; 
Its  sacred  majesty,  through  all,  depends 
On  using  second  means  to  work  His  ends. 
'Tis  thus,  withdrawn  in  state  from  human  eye, 
The  Power  exerts  His  attributes  on  high  ; 
Your  actions  uses,  not  controls  your  will, 
And  bids  the  doubting  sons  of  men  be  still. 

"  What  strange  events  can  strike  with  more  surprise. 
Than  those  which  lately  struck  thy  wondering  eyes  ! 
Yet,  taught  by  these,  confess  the  Almighty  just, 
And,  where  you  can't  unriddle,  learn  to  trust! 

"  The  great  vain  man,  who  fared  on  costly  food, 
Whose  life  was  too  luxurious  to  be  good, 
Who  made  his  ivory  stands  with  goblets  shine. 
And  forced  his  guests  to  morning  draughts  of  wme, 
Has,  with  the  cup,  Jthe  graceless  custom  lost. 
And  still  he  welcomes,  but  'with  less  of  cost. 

"  The  mean,  suspicious  wretch,  whose  bolted  door 
Ne'er  moved  in  pity  to  the  wandering  poor, 
With  him  I  left  the  cup,  to  teach  his  mind 
That  Heaven  can  bless,  if  mortals  will  be  kind ; 
Conscious  of  wanting  worth,  he  views  the  bowl, 
And  feels  compassion  touch  his  grateful  soul. 


240  THOMAS    PARNELL. 

Thus  artists  melt  the  sullen  ore  of  lead, 
With  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  its  head  ; 
[n  the  kind  warmth  the  metal  learns  to  glow, 
And,  loose  from  dross,  the  silver  runs  below. 

"  Long  had  our  pious  friend  in  virtue  trod, 
But  now  the  child  half  weaned  his  heart  from  God; 
Child  of  his  age,  for  him  he  lived  in  pain. 
And  measured  back  his  steps  to  earth  again. 
To  what  excesses  had  his  dotage  run  ! 
But  God,  to  save  the  father,  took  the  son. 
To  all  but  thee,  in  fits  he  seemed  to  go, 
And  'twas  my  ministry  to  deal  the  blow ; 
The  poor,  fond  parent,  humbled  in  the  dust, 
Now  owns,  in  tears,  the  punishment  was  just. 

"  But  how  had  all  his  fortunes  felt  a  wrack. 
Had  that  false  servant  sped  in  safety  back  ! 
This  night  his  treasured  heaps  he  meant  to  steal, 
And  what  a  fund  of  charity  would  fail  ! 

"  Thus  Heaven  instructs  thy  mind  ;  this  trial  o'er, 
Depart  in  peace,  resign,  and  sin  no  more." 

On  sounding  pinions,  here  the  youth  withdrew, 
The  sage  stood  wondering,  as  the  seraph  flew  ; 
Thus  looked  Elisha,  when,  to  mount  on  high, 
His  master  took  the  chariot  of  the  sky  ; 
The  fiery  pomp  ascending  left  to  view  ; 
The  prophet  gazed,  and  wished  to  follow  too. 

The  bending  hermit  here  a  prayer  begun, 
"  Lord,  as  in  heaven,  on  earth.  Thy  will  be  done," 
Then  gladly  turning,  sought  his  ancient  place, 
And  passed  a  life  of  piety  and  peace. 


lames  '§tMt 

1735-1803. 


EDWIN'S   MEDITATIONS  IN  AUTUMN. 

"  O  YE  wild  groves,  O  where  is  now  your  bloom !  " 
(The  Muse  interprets  thus  his  tender  thought) 
''Your  flowers,  your  verdure,  and  your  balmy  gloom 
Of  late  so  grateful  in  the  hour  of  drought ! 
Why  do  the  birds,  that  song  and  rapture  brought 
To  all  your  bowers,  their  mansions  now  forsake  ? 
Ah  !  why  has  fickle  chance  this  ruin  wrought  ? 
For  now  the  storm  howls  mournful  through  the  brake, 
And  the  dead  foliage  flies  in  many  a  shapeless  flake 

"  Yet  such  the  destiny  of  all  on  earth  ; 
So  flourishes  and  fades  majestic  man  ! 
Fair  is  the  bud  his  vernal  morn  brings  forth, 
And  fostering  gales  a  while  the  nursling  fan  : 
O  smile,  ye  heavens,  serene ;  ye  mildews  wan, 

241 


242  JAMES    BEATTIE 

Ye  blighting  whirlwinds,  spare  his  balmy  prime, 
Nor  lessen  of  his  life  the  little  span  : 
Borne  on  the  swift,  though  silent,  wings  of  Time, 
Old  age  comes  on  apace  to  ravage  all  the  clime. 

"  And  be  it  so.     Let  those  deplore  their  doom. 
Whose  hope  still  grovels  in  this  dark  sojourn  : 
But  lofty  souls,  who  look  beyond  the  tomb, 
Can  smile  at  Fate  and  wonder  how  they  mourn. 
Shall  Spring  to  these  sad  scenes  no  more  return  ? 
Is  yonder  wave  the  sun's  eternal  bed?  — 
Soon  shall  the  orient  with  new  lustre  burn, 
And  Spring  shall  soon  her  vital  influence  shed, 
Again  attune  the  grove,  again  adorn  the  mead. 

"  Shall  I  be  left  abandoned  in  the  dust, 
When  Fate,  relenting,  lets  the  flower  revive, 
Shall  Nature's  voice,  to  man  alone  unjust. 
Bid  him,  though  doomed  to  perish,  hope  to  live  1 
Is  it  for  this  fair  Virtue  oft  must  strive 
With  disappointment,  penury,  and  pain  ?  — 
No:  Heaven's  immortal  spring  shall  yet  arrive 
And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again. 
Bright  through  the  eternal  year  of  Love's  triumphant 
reign." 


1743-1825. 


AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEITY. 

God  of  my  life  !   and  Author  of  my  days ! 

Permit  my  feeble  voice  to  lisp  Thy  praise ; 

And  trembling,  take  upon  a  mortal  tongue 

That  hallowed  name,  to  harps  of  seraphs  sung. 

Yet  here  the  brightest  seraphs  could  no  more 

Than  veil  their  faces,  tremble,  and  adore. 

Worms,  angels,  men,  in  every  different  sphere, 

Are  equal  all,  —  for  all  are  nothing  here. 

All  nature  faints  beneath  the  mighty  name. 

Which  nature's  works  through  all  their  parts  proclaim 

I  feel  that  name  my  inmost  thoughts  control, 

And  breathe  an  awful  stillness  through  my  soul  ; 

As  by  a  charm,  the  waves  of  grief  subside  ; 

Impetuous  Passion  stops  her  headlong  tide  : 

248 


244  MRS.    BARBAULD. 

At  Thy  felt  presence  all  emotions  cease, 
And  my  hushed  spirit  finds  a  sudden  peace, 
Till  every  worldly  thought  within  me  dies, 
And  earth's  gay  pageants  vanish  from  my  eyes 
Till  all  my  sense  is  lost  in  infinite, 
And  one  vast  object  fills  ray  aching  sight. 

But  soon,  alas  !  this  holy  calm  is  broke  ; 
My  soul  submits  to  wear  her  wonted  yoke ; 
With  shackled  pinions  strives  to  soar  in  vain, 
And  mingles  with  the  dross  of  earth  again. 
But  He,  our  gracious  Master,  kind  as  just, 
Knowing  our  frame,  remembers  man  is  dust. 
His  spirit,  ever  brooding  o'er  our  mind, 
Sees  the  first  wish  to  better  hopes  inclined ; 
Marks  the  young  dawn  of  every  virtuous  aim, 
And  fans  the  smoking  flax  into  a  flame. 
His  ears  are  open  to  the  softest  cry. 
His  grace  descends  to  meet  the  lifted  eye  ; 
He  reads  the  language  of  a  silent  tear, 
And  sighs  are  incense  from  a  heart  sincere. 
Such  are  the  vows,  the  sacrifice  I  give  ; 
Accept  the  vow,  and  bid  the  suppliant  live  : 
From  each  terrestrial  bondage  set  me  free ; 
Still  every  wish  that  centres  not  in  Thee ; 
Bid  my  fond  hopes,  my  vain  disquiets  cease, 
And  point  my  path  to  everlasting  peace. 

If  the  soft  hand  of  winning  Pleasure  leads 
By  living  waters,  and  through  flowery  meads. 


MES.  BARBAULD.  245 

When  all  is  smiling,  tranquil,  and  serene, 
And  vernal  beauty  paints  the  flattering  scene, 

0  teach  me  to  elude  each  latent  snare, 
And  whisper  to  m)  sliding  heart  —  Beware  ! 
With  caution  let  me  hear  the  syren's  voice, 
And  doubtful,  with  a  tremblinsr  heart,  rejoice. 
If  friendless,  in  a  vale  of  tears  I  stray, 

Where  briars  wound,  and  thorns  perplex  my  way. 
Still  let  my  steady  soul  Thy  goodness  see, 
And  with  strong  confidence  lay  hold  on  Thee  ; 
With  equal  eye  my  various  lot  receive, 
Resigned  to  die,  or  resolute  to  live ; 
Prepared  to  kiss  the  sceptre  or  the  rod, 
While  God  is  seen  in  all,  and  all  in  God. 

1  read  His  awful  name,  emblazoned  high 
With  golden  letters  on  th'  illumined  sky  ; 
Nor  less  the  mystic  characters  I  see 
Wrought  in  each  flower,  inscribed  in  every  tree  ; 
In  every  leaf  that  trembles  to  the  breeze 

I  hear  the  voice  of  God  among  the  trees  ; 
With  Thee  in  shady  solitudes  I  walk. 
With  Thee  in  busy  crowded  cities  talk ; 
In  every  creature  own  Thy  forming  power, 
In  each  event  Thy  Providence  adore. 
Thy  hopes  shall  animate  my  drooping  soul, 
Thy  precepts  guide  me,  and  Thy  fears  control : 
Thus  shall  I  rest,  unmoved  by  all  alarms, 
Secure  within  the  temple  of  Thine  arms  ; 


246  MRS.    BARBAULD. 

From  anxious  cares,  from  gloomy  terrors  free, 
And  feel  myself  omnipotent  in  Thee. 

Then  when  the  last,  the  closing  hour  draws  nigh, 
And  earth  recedes  before  my  swimming  eye  ; 
When  trembling  on  the  doubtful  edge  of  fate 
I  stand,  and  stretch  my  view  to  either  state ; 
Teach  me  to  quit  this  transitory  scene 
With  decent  triumph  and  a  look  serene ; 
Teach  me  to  fix  my  ardent  hopes  on  high, 
And  having  lived  to  Thee,  in  Thee  to  die. 


THE   UNKNOWN   GOD. 

To  learned  Athens,  led  by  fame 

As  once  the  man  of  Tarsus  came, — 

With  pity  and  surprise, 
Midst  idol  altars  as  he  stood 
O'er  sculptured  marble,  brass,  and  wood, 

He  rolled  his  awful  eyes. 

But  one,  apart,  his  notice  caught. 

That  seemed  with  higher  meaning  fraught, 

Graved  on  the  wounded  stone  ; 
Nor  form,  nor  name  was  there  expressed ; 
Deep  reverence  filled  the  musing  breast, 

Perusing  "  To  the  God  unknown." 


MRS.   BARBAULD.  24" 

Age  after  age  has  rolled  away, 
Altars  and  thrones  have  felt  decay, 

Sages  and  saints  have  risen  ; 
And,  like  a  giant  roused  from  sleep, 
Man  has  explored  the  pathless  deep, 

And  lightnings  snatched  from  heaven. 

And  many  a  shrine  in  dust  is  laid. 
Where  kneeling  nations  homage  paid, 

By  rock,  or  fount,  or  grove ; 
Ephesian  Dian  sees  no  more 
Her  workmen  fuse  the  silver  ore, 

Nor  Capitolian  Jove. 

E'en  Salem's  hallowed  courts  have  ceased 
With  solemn  pomp  her  tribes  to  feast ; 

No  more  the  victim  bleeds ; 
The  censers,  filled  with  rare  perfumes, 
And  vestments  from  Egyptian  looms, 

A  purer  rite  succeeds. 

Yet  still,  where'er  presumptuous  man 
His  Maker's  essence  strives  to  scan, 

And  lifts  his  feeble  hands. 
Though  saint  and  sage  their  powers  unite, 
To  fathom  that  abyss  of  light. 

Ah  !  still  that  altar  stands. 


1759-1796. 


THE  INNER  LAW. 

The  fear  o'  hell's  a  hangman's  whip. 

To  hand  the  wretch  in  order ; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honor  grip, 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border  : 
Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause  — 

Debar  all  side  pretences  ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 

The  great  Creator  to  revere 

Must  sure  become  the  creature  ; 

But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear. 
And  even  the  rigid  feature ; 

248 


EGBERT    BUEIS-S.  349 

Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended ; 
An  Atheist's  laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended  ! 

When  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded ; 
Or  if  she  gi'e  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded ; 
But  when  on  life  we're  tempest  driven, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker, 
A  correspondence  fixed  wi'  Heaven 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor  1 


CHARITY. 


Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man. 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
Though  they  may  go  a  trifle  wrong, 

To  step  aside  is  human  : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  why  they  do  it : 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord — its  various  tone, 

Each  spring  —  its  various  bias  ; 


250  ROBERT    BURNS. 

Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 
We  never  can  adjust  it ; 

What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
But  not  know  what's  resisted. 


A  PRAYER, 

Under  the  pressure  of  violent  anguish. 

O,  THOU  great  Being !  what  Thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know  : 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  thy  works  below. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands. 

All  wretched  and  distrest  ; 
Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 

Obey  Thy  high  behest. 

Sure,  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath  ! 
O,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears, 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death  ! 

But,  if  I  must  afflicted  be, 

To  suit  some  wise  design, 
Tiien  man  my  soul  with  firm  resolves 

To  bear,  and  not  repine ! 


%\mm  (Jiunpbell 

1777-1844. 


THE  HOPE    OF  AN   HEREAFTER. 

Unfading  Hope  ;  when  life's  last  embers  bum. 
When  soul  to  soul,  and  dust  to  dust  return, 
Heaven  to  thy  charge  resigns  the  awful  hour  ! 
Oh!  then,  thy  kingdom  comes!  Immortal  Power! 
What  though  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture  fly 
The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye, 
Bright  to  the  soul  thy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream  of  life's  eternal  day  — 
Then,  then,  the  triumph  and  the  trance  begin! 
And  all  the  Phoenix  spirit  burns  within ! 
Oh!  deep  enchanting  prelude  to  repose. 
The  dawn  of  bliss,  the  twilight  of  our  woes ! 
Yet  half  I  hear  the  parting  spirit  sigh. 
It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing  to  die  ! 

351 


252  THOMAS    CAAri'IiEI.L. 

Mysterious  worlds,  untravelled  by  the  sun  ! 
Where  Time's  far-wand'ring  tide  has  never  run, 
From  your  unfathomed  shades,  and  viewless  spheres, 
A  warning  comes,  unheard  by  other  ears. 
'Tis  Heaven's  commanding  trumpet,  long  and  loud, 
Like  Sinai's  thunder,  pealing  from  the  cloud ! 
While  Nature  hears,  with  terror-mingled  trust, 
The  shock  that  hurls  her  fabric  to  the  dust ; 
And,  like  the  trembling  Hebrew,  when  he  trod 
The  roaring  waves,  and  called  upon  his  God, 
With  mortal  terrors  clouds  immortal  bliss, 
And  shrieks,  and  hovers  o'er  the  dark  abyss ! 

Daughter  of  Faith,  awake,  arise,  illume 
The  dread  unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb ! 
Melt,  and  dispel,  ye  spectre  doubts,  that  roll 
Cimmerian  darkness  on  the  parting  soul ! 
Fiji  like  the  moon-eyed  herald  of  Dismay, 
Chased  on  his  night-steed  by  the  star  of  day ! 
The  strife  is  o'er  —  the  pangs  of  Nature  close, 
And  life's  last  rapture  triumphs  o'er  her  woes. 
Hark  !  as  the  spirit  eyes,  with  eagle  gaze, 
The  noon  of  Heaven  undazzled  by  the  blaze, 
On  Heavenly  winds  that  waft  her  to  the  sky, 
Float  the  sweet  tones  of  star-born  melody; 
Wild  as  that  hallowed  anthem  sent  to  hail 
Bethlehem's  shepherds  in  the  lonely  vale. 
When  Jordan  hushed  his  waves,  and  midnight  still 
Watched  on  the  holy  towers  of  Zion  hill  ! 

Soul  of  the  just!  companion  of  the  dead  ! 
Where  is  thy  home,  and  whither  art  thou  fled  ? 


THOMAS    CAMPBELL.  253 

Back  to  its  heavenly  source  thy  being  goes, 
Swift  as  the  comet  wheels  to  whence  he  rose ; 
Doomed  on  his  airy  path  awhile  to  burn, 
And  doomed,  like  thee,  to  travel  and  return.  — 
Hark  !  from  the  world's  exploding  centre  driven, 
With  sounds  that  shook  the  firmament  of  Heaven, 
Careers  the  fiery  giant,  fast  and  far, 
On  bick'ring  wheels,  and  adamantine  car  ; 
From  planet  whirled  to  planet  more  remote. 
He  visits  realms  beyond  the  reach  of  thought ; 
But,  wheeling  homeward,  when  his  course  is  run, 
Curbs  the  red  yoke,  and  mingles  with  the  sun! 
So  hath  the  traveller  of  earth  unfurled 
Her  trembling  wings,  emerging  from  the  world  ; 
And  o'er  the  path  by  mortal  never  trod. 
Sprung  to  her  source,  the  bosom  of  her  God  ! 

Oh !    lives  there,  Heaven !    beneath  thy  dread  ex- 
panse, 
One  hopeless,  dark  Idolater  of  Chance, 
Content  to  feed,  with  pleasures  unrefined, 
The  lukewarm  passions  of  a  lowly  mind  ; 
Who,  mould'ring  earthward,  'reft  of  every  trust, 
In  joyless  union  wedded  to  the  dust, 
Could  all  his  parting  energy  dismiss, 
And  call  this  barren  world  sufficient  bliss?  — 
There  live,  alas  !  of  Heaven-directed  mien, 
Of  cultured  soul,  and  sapient  eye  serene, 
Who  hailed  thee,  Man  !  the  pilgrim  of  a  day. 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  brother  of  the  clay ! 


254  THOMAS    nAMPEELL. 

Frail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn's  yellow  bower, 

Dust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  flower  ! 

A  friendless  slave,  a  child  without  a  sire, 

Whose  mortal  life,  and  momentary  fire. 

Lights  to  the  grave  his  chance-created  form 

As  ocean-wrecks  illuminate  the  storm  ; 

And  when  the  gun's  tremendous  flash  is  o'er, 

To  Night  and  Silence  sink  for  ever  more !  — 

Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 

Lights  of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  Fame? 

Is  this  your  triumph  —  this  your  proud  applause, 

Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause  ? 

For  this  hath  Science  searched,  on  weary  wing. 

By  shore  and  sea  — ^  each  mute  and  living  thing  ? 

Launched  with  Iberia's  pilot  from  the  steep, 

To  worlds  unknown,  and  isles  beyond  the  deep  ? 

Or  round  the  cope  her  living  chariot  driven, 

And  wheeled  in  triumph  through  the  signs  of  Heaven  t 

Oh!  star-eyed  Science,  hast  thou  wandered  there, 

To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair  ? 

Then  bind  the  palm,  thy  sage's  brow  to  suit, 

Of  blasted  leaf,  and  death-distilling  fruit ! 

Ah  me  !  the  laurelled  wreath  that  murder  rears, 

Blood-nursed,  and  watered  by  the  widow's  tears, 

Seems  not  so  foul,  so  tainted,  and  so  dread, 

As  waves  the  night-shade  round  the  skeptic  head. 

What  is  the  bigot's  torch,  the  tyrant's  chain  1 

I  smile  on  death,  if  Heav'n-ward  Hope  remain ! 

But,  if  the  warring  winds  of  Nature's  strife 

Be  all  the  faithless  charter  of  my  life, 


THOMAS    CAMPBELL.  255 

If  Chance  awaked,  inexorable  power ! 
This  frail  and  feverish  being  of  an  hour, 
Doomed  o'er  the  world's  precarious  scene  to  sweep, 
Swift  as  the  tempest  travels  on  the  deep, 
To  know  Delight  but  by  her  parting  smile, 
And  toil,  and  wish,  and  weep,  a  little  while ; 
Then  melt,  ye  elements,  that  formed  in  vain 
This  troubled  pulse,  and  visionary  brain  ! 
Fade,  ye  wild  flowers,  memorials  of  my  doom  ! 
And  sink,  ye  stars,  that  light  me  to  the  tomb ! 

Cease  every  joy  to  glimmer  on  my  mind, 
But  leave  —  oh  !  leave  the  light  of  Hope  behind  ! 
What  though  my  winged  hours  of  bliss  have  been, 
Like  angel-visits,  few,  and  far  between  ! 
Her  musing  mood  shall  every  pang  appease, 
And    charm  —  when   pleasures   lose   the   power   to 
please  !  .  .  .  . 

When,  'reft  of  all,  yon  widowed  sire  appears 
A  lonely  hermit  in  the  vale  of  years ; 
Say,  can  the  world  one  joyous  thought  bestow 
To  Friendship,  weeping  at  the  couch  of  Wo  ? 
No  !  but  a  brighter  soothes  the  last  adieu,  — 
Souls  of  impassioned  mould,  she  speaks  to  you  ! 
Weep  not,  she  says,  at  Nature's  transient  pain, 
Congenial  spirits  part  to  meet  again  !  —  .... 

Cold  in  the  dust  this  perished  heart  may  lie. 
But  that  which  warmed  it  once  shall  never  die  I 
That  spark  unburied  in  its  mortal  frame, 
With  living  light,  eternal,  and  the  same, 


256  THOMAS    CAMPBELL. 

Shall  beam  on  Joy's  interminable  years, 

Unveiled  by  darkness  —  uiiassuaged  by  tears  !  .  .  .  , 

Inspiring  thought  of  rapture  yet  to  be, 
The  tears  of  love  were  hopeless,  but  for  thee ! 
If  in  that  fram.e  no  deathless  spirit  dwell, 
If  that  faint  murmur  be  the  last  farewell ! 
If  fate  unite  the  faithful  but  to  part, 
Why  is  their  memory  sacred  to  the  heart  ? 
Why  does  the  brother  of  my  childhood  seem 
Restored  awhile  in  every  pleasing  dream? 
Why  do  I  joy  the  lonely  spot  to  view, 
By  artless  friendship  blessed  when  life  was  new  ? 

Eternal  Hope  !  when  yonder  spheres  sublime 
Pealed  their  first  notes  to  sound  the  march  of  Time, 
Thy  joyous  youth  began  —  but  not  to  fade. — 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decayed  ; 
When  wrapt  in  fire  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 
And  Pleaven's  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below ; 
Thou,  undismayed  shalt  o'er  the  ruins  smile, 
And  ligli^  thy  torch  at  Nature's  funeral  pile  I 


%s  Bm^trd. 


MOUNT  HOPE. 

ODE  DELIVERED  AT  THE  CONSECRATION  OF  THE  CEME- 
TERY OF  MOUNT  HOPE,  NEAR  BOSTON. 

Not  in  this  green  retreat 

However  beautiful,  while  Summer  launches 

Her  odors  and  soft  airs  through  swaying  branches ;  — 
Though  wild  flowers  court  our  feet, 

And  though  the  wild  birds  capture 

The  listening  sense  with  their  melodious  rapture,— 
Not  here,  not  here,  my  friends. 

Let  us  believe  the  loved  one  shall  repose. 
Or  that  life's  true  receptacle  descends 

To  the  dark  mould,  where  sods  above  it  close, 
And  the  immortal  with  the  mortal  blends ! 

Let  not  despair  or  sensual  distrust 

Confound  this  mouldering  dust 

257 


258  EPES   SARGENT. 

With  the  true  person  —  with  the  inner  form, 

Which  gave  the  outward  all  it  had  of  fair  ;  — 
Which  is  no  kindred  of  the  worm, 

No  warrant  for  despair  ! 
Not  here,  my  soul,  not  for  one  moment  here, 
Sinks  the  pure  life-spring  of  one  generous  tear  ; 
Of  one  heaven-aimed  affection, 
One  tender  recollection, 

One  deed  of  goodness  in  seclusion  wrought. 

One  lesson,  or  one  thought ! 
As  water  rises  to  its  fountain-head. 
However  low  you  lay  its  transient  bed. 
So  must  the  spirit,  from  its  earthward  course, 
Mount  to  the  Deity,  which  is  its  source ! 

We  give  the  infant,  who  to  walk  is  learning. 

His  leading  strings  ;  —  corks  to  the  doubtful  swim- 
mer ; 
So  are  these  bodies,  for  our  brief  sojourning. 

Helps  to  us  here,  while  schooled  in  being's  primer. 
For  here,  in  God's  stupendous  seminary. 

What  various  lore  the  thoughtful  eye  engages  ! 
Morning  and  night  —  the  seasons  as  they  vary,  — 

Spread  for  our  use  illuminated  pages. 
If  all  were  ours  unearned,  what  need  of  action  t 

If  God  no  problem  set  for  our  unfolding. 
Where  were  the  joy,  the  power,  the  benefaction 

Of  toil,  and  faith,  and  prayer,  our  spirits  moulding! 
Where  were  the  innocence,  without  temptation  ? 

Where,  without  freedom,  were  the  self-denial  1 


EPES    SARGENT.  259 

Where  were  the  goal,  the  triumph,  the  salvation, 
Without  the  doubt,  the  danger,  and  the  trial  ? 
And  though  to  some  the  fairer  lot  be  given, 
Unstained,  because  untried,  to  enter  Heaven, 
O  doubt  not  there  is  compensation  ever 
From  Him,  the  just  and  unforgetting  Giver! 

If  then  the  Saviour's  promise  and  example 

Be  an  assurance  ample. 

Let  us  not  say,  however  fair  the  breast 

Of  the  green  hill-side,  where  the  graves  are  made,— 
"  Here  the  beloved  ones  rest ! 

"  Here  in  this  forest  shade  !  " 
Distant,  —  and  yet  how  near  !  — 

Where  kindred  spirits  kindred  joys  pursue, 
In  duties  ever  dear, 

Surprises  ever  new, 
They  range  from  sphere  to  sphere 
Through  all  the  fresh  delights  of  God's  eternal  year ! 
Nor  are  their  human  ties  forgotten  quite : 

With  the  strong  will  to  see  friends  left  behind 
Cometh  a  might 
Swifter  than  light, 

And  they  are  here,  though  viewless  as  the  wind ; 
With  privilege,  at  times,  to  interpose 
Between  us  and  our  woes. 

Since  it  is  gain  ineffable,  to  die 
Unto  the  mortal  eye, 


2 CO  EPES    SARGENT. 

What  doth  it  matter  to  the  spirit  freed 

If  the  decaying  husk  feed  flower  or  weed  ? 

Then  for  the  living  be  the  grounds  outlaid, 

The  eager  soil  arrayed  ! 

Remote  from  cities  and  from  habitations, 

Here  where  the  grateful  trees  and  underwood 
Convert  corruption's  noxious  emanations, 

Through  Nature's  wondrous  alchemy,  to  good. 
Not  a  Necropolis, — 
Rather  a  garden  this  ! 
With  sylvan  alleys  and  enamelled  banks 
And  pines  in  plume-tost  ranks. 
Here  let  the  roses  bloom  ! 
Here  let  the  wild  bee  come 
To  find  the  ground 

Heaped  with  such  flowery  wealth  as  bee  ne'er  found  ! 
But  O,  high-building  Vanity  !   forbear 

To  rear  upon  this  spot  th'  o'ercostly  pile ! 
Rather  let  living  "Want  thy  bounty  share. 

And  trust  thou  unto  watchful  Nature's  smile 
To  keep  the  turf  above  thy  ashes  bright, 
In  Spring's  first  verdure  dight. 
Then  shall  this  be  a  Mount  of  Hope  indeed, 
Where  not  one  doubtful  title  we  shall  read. 


1788-1824. 


THE  i:mmortal  mind. 

When  coldness  wraps  this  suffering  clay, 

Ah,  whither  strays  the  immortal  mind? 
It  cannot  die,  it  cannot  stay, 

But  leaves  its  darkened  dust  behind. 
Then,  unembodied,  doth  it  trace 

By  steps  each  planet's  heavenly  way  ? 
Or  fill  at  once  the  realms  of  space ; 

A  thing  of  eyes,  that  all  survey  ? 

Eternal,  boundless,  undecayed, 
A  thought  unseen,  but  seeing  all, 

All,  all  in  earth,  or  skies  displayed, 
Shall  it  survey,  shall  it  recall : 

361 


2G2  LORD    BYRON. 

Each  fainter  trace  that  memory  holds 

So  darkly  of  departed  years, 
In  one  broad  glance  the  soul  beholds, 

And  all,  that  was,  at  once  appears. 

Before  creation  peopled  earth, 

Its  eye  shall  roll  through  chaos  back : 
And  where  the  furthest  heaven  had  birth, 

The  spirit  trace  its  rising  track. 
And  where  the  future  mars  or  makes, 

Its  glance  dilate  o'er  all  to  be, 
While  sun  is  quenched  or  system  breaks ; 

Fixed  in  its  own  eternity. 

Above  or  Love,  Hope,  Hate,  or  Fear, 
It  lives  all  passionless  and  pure  : 

An  age  shall  fleet  like  earthly  year ; 
Its  years  as  moments  shall  endure. 

Away,  away,  without  a  wing, 

.    O'er  all,  through  all,  its  thoughts  shall  fly, 

A  nameless  and  eternal  thing, 
Forgetting  what  it  was  to  die. 


I,  «,  ®rmt. 


COUPLETS. 

To  halls  of  heavenly  truth  admission  wouldst  thon  win  t 
Oft  Knowledge  stands  without,  while  Love  may  enter  in. 

God  many  a  spiritual  house  has  reared,  but  never  one 
Where  lowliness  was  not  laid  first,  the  corner-stone. 

Sin,  not  till  it  is  left,  will  duly  sinful  seem , 

A  man  must  waken  first,  ere  he  can  tell  his  dream. 

When  thou  art  fain  to  trace  a  map  of  thine  own  heart, 
As  undiscovered  land  set  down  the  largest  part. 

Wouldst   thou  do    harm,    and   yet  unharmed   thyself 

abide? 
None  ever  struck  another,  save  through  his  own  side. 

263 


264  ^-    C.    TRENCH. 

God's   dealings   still   are  love,  —  his  chastenings  are 

alone 
Love  now  compelled  to  take  an  altered,  louder  tone. 

From  our  ill-ordered  hearts  we  oft  are  fain  to  roam, 
As  men  go  forth  who  find  unquietness  at  home. 

Sin  may  be  clasped  so  close  we  cannot  see  its  face, 
Nor  seen  nor  loathed  until  held  from  us  a  small  space. 

Set  not  thy  heart  on  things  given  only  with  intent 
To  be  alleviations  of  thy  banishment 

111  fares  the  child  of  heaven,  who  will  not  entertain 
On  earth  the  stranger's  grief,  the  exile's  sense  of  pain 

Mark  how  there  still  has  run,  enwoven  from  above, 
Through  thy  life's  darkest  woof,  the  golden  thread  of 
love. 

Things  earthly  we  must  know  ere  love  them :  'tis  alone 
Things    heavenly  that  must    be  first  loved  and   after 
known. 


The  sinews  of  Love's 

arm 

use  makes  more  firm  and                | 

strong, 

Which 

,  being  left  unused, 

will  disappear 

ere  long. 

When 

will  the  din  of  earth 

grate  harshly 

on  our  ears  ? 

When 

we   have  once 

heard   plain   the 

music  of  the 

spheres. 

R.  C.    TRENCH.  265 

Why  win  we  not  at  once  what  we  in  prayer  require? 
That  we  may  learn  great  things  as  greatly  to  desire. 

The  tasks,  the  joys  of  earth,  the  same  in  heaven  will  be ; 
Only  the  little  brook  has  widened  to  a  sea. 


SPRINa. 


Who  was  it  that  so  lately  said, 

All  pulses  in  thine  heart  were  dead, 

Old  earth,  that  now  in  festal  robes 

Appearest,  as  a  bride  new  wed  ? 

Oh  wrapped  so  late  in  winding-sheet, 

Thy  winding-sheet,  oh  !  where  is  fled  ? 

Lo  !  'tis  an  emerald  carpet  now, 

Where  the  young  monarch,  Spring,  may  tread, 

He  comes, —  and  a  defeated  king, 

Old  Winter,  to  the  hills  is  fled. 

The  warm  wind  broke  his  frosty  spear, 

And  loosed  the  helmet  from  his  head; 

And  he  weak  showers  of  arrowy  sleet 

From  his  strong-holds  has  vainly  sped. 

All  that  was  sleeping  is  awake, 
And  all  is  living  that  was  dead. 
Who  listens  now  can  hear  the  streams 
Leap  tinkling  from  their  pebbly  bed, 


266 


Tl.    C.    TRENCH. 

Or  see  them  from  their  fetters  free, 
Like  silver  snakes  the  meadows  thread : 
The  joy,  the  life,  the  hope  of  earth, 
They  slept  awhile,  they  were  not  dead  : 
Oh,  thou,  who  say'st  thy  sore  heart  ne'er 
With  verdure  can  again  be  spread  ; 
Oh,  thou,  who  mournest  them  that  sleep, 
Low  lying  in  an  earthly  bed  ; 
Look  out  on  this  reviving  world, 
And  be  new  hopes  within  thee  bred ! 


SHORTSIGHTEDNESS   OF  MAN. 

A  DEW-DROP  falling  on  the  ocean-wave, 

Exclaimed  in  fear  —  "  I  perish  in  this  grave  ;" 

But,  in  a  shell  received,  that  drop  of  dew 

Unto  a  pearl  of  marvellous  beauty  grew  ; 

And,  happy  now,  the  grace  did  magnify 

Which  thrust  it  forth  —  as  it  had  feared  —  to  die  ; 

Until  again,  "  I  perish  quite,"  it  said, 

Torn  by  rude  diver  from  its  ocean  bed  : 

O  unbelieving  !  —  So  it  came  to  gleam 

Chief  jewel  in  a  monarch's  diadem. 


1592-1644. 


TRIAL  BEFORE  REWARD. 

What  joyful  harvester  did  e'er  obtain 

The  sweet  fruition  of  his  hopeful  gain, 

Till  he  in  hardy  labors  first  had  passed 

The  summer's  heat  and  stormy  winter's  blast  ? 

A  sable  night  returns  a  shining  morrow, 

And  days  of  joy  ensue  sad  nights  of  sorrow ; 

The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down, 

And  he  that  had  no  cross  deserves  no  crown. 

There's  but  one  heaven,  one  place  of  perfect  ease ; 

In  man  it  lies  to  take  it  where  he  please, 

Above,  or  here  below :  and  few  men  do 

Enjoy  the  one,  and  taste  the  other  too  : 

Sweating  and  constant  labor  win  the  goal 

Of  rest ;  afflictions  clarify  the  soul, 

367 


268  FRANCIS    QUARLES. 

And,  like  hard  masters,  give  more  hard  directions, 

Tutoring  the  nonage  of  uncurbed  affections. 

Wisdom,  the  antidote  of  sad  despair, 

Makes  sharp  afflictions  seem  not  as  they  are, 

Through  patient  sufferance  ;  and  doth  apprehend. 

Not  as  they  seeming  are,  but  as  they  end. 

To  bear  affliction  with  a  bended  brow. 

Or  stubborn  heart,  is  but  to  disallow 

The  speedy  means  to  health  ;  salv^  heals  no  sore, 

If  misapplied,  but  makes  the  grief  the  more. 

Who  sends  affliction  sends  an  end,  and  He 

Best  knows  what's  best  for  Him,  what's  best  for  me 

'Tis  not  for  me  to  carve  me  where  I  like  ; 

Him  pleases  when  He  list  to  stroke  or  strike. 

I'll  neither  wish  nor  yet  avoid  temptation, 

But  still  expect  it,  and  make  preparation : 

If  He  thinks  best  my  faith  shall  not  be  tried, 

Lord,  keep  me  spotless  from  presumptuous  pride  ! 

If  otherwise,  with  His  trial  give  me  care 

By  thankful  patience  to  prevent  despair. 

Fit  me  to  bear  whate'er  Thou  shalt  assign  ; 

I  kiss  the  rod,  because  the  rod  is  Thine ! 

Howe'er,  let  me  not  boast,  nor  yet  repine  ; 

With  trial,  or  without,  Lord,  make  me  Thine  I 


f  l]0m]is  I00X 

179&-1845. 


THE  BRIDGE   OF  SIGHSw 

*  Drowned  I  drowned  I "  —  JTamlet. 

One  more  Unfortunate, 
Weary  of  breath, 
Rashly  importunate, 
Gone  to  her  death  ! 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care  ; 
Fashioned  so  slenderly. 
Young,  and  so  fair  ! 

Look  at  her  garments 
Clinging  like  cerements  ; 


270 


THOMAS    HOOD. 

Whilst  the  wave  constantly 
Drips  from  her  clothing  , 
Take  her  up  instantly, 
Loving,  not  loathing. 

Touch  her  not  scornfully ; 
Think  of  her  mournfully  ; 
Gently  and  humanly  ; 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her, 
All  that  remains  of  her, 
Novi'  is  pure  womanly. 

Make  no  deep  scrutiny 
Into  her  mutiny 
Rash  and  undutiful  ; 
Past  all  dishonor, 
Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful. 

Still,  for  all  slips  of  hers, 
One  of  Eve's  family  — 
Wipe  those  poor  lips  of  hers, 
Oozing  so  clammily. 

Loop  up  her  tresses 
Escaped  from  the  comb. 
Her  fair  auburn  tresses ; 
Whilst  wonderment  guesses 
Where  was  her  home  1 


.      THOMAS    HOOD. 

Who  was  her  father  ? 
Who  was  her  mother  ? 
Had  she  a  sister  ? 
Had  she  a  brother  ? 
Or  was  there  a  dearer  oue 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet,  than  all  other  ? 

Alas  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun  ! 
Oh  !  it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full, 
Home,  she  had  none. 

Sisterly,  brotherly, 
Fatherly,  motherly 
Feelings  had  changed ; 
Love  by  harsh  evidence 
Thrown  from  its  eminence ; 
Even  God's  providence 
Seeming  estranged. 

Where  the  lamps  quiver 

So  far  in  the  river, 

With  many  a  light 

From  window  and  casement. 

From  garret  to  basement. 

She  stood  with  amazement 

Houseless  by  night. 


271 


272  THOMAS    HOOD.     • 

The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver 
But  not  the  dark  arch 
Or  the  black  flowing  riVer ; 
Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery, 
Swift  to  be  hurled  — 
Any  where,  any  where 
Out  of  the  world ! 

In  she  plunged  boldly, 
No  matter  how  coldly 
The  rough  river  ran,  — 
Over  the  brink  of  it. 
Picture  it  —  think  of  it, 
Dissolute  man  ! 
Lave  in  it,  drink  of  it. 
Then,  if  you  can  ! 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care. 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  fair  ! 

Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
Stiffen  too  rigidly, 
Decently,  kindly, — 
Smooth  and  compose  them. 
And  her  eyes,  close  them. 
Staring  so  blindly  ! 


THOMAS    HOOD. 

Dreadfully  staring 
Through  muddy  impuritr. 
As  when  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing 
Fixed  on  futurity. 

Perishing  gloomily, 
Spurred  by  contumely, 
Cold  inhumanity, 
Burning  insanity ; 
Into  her  rest.  — 
Cross  her  hands  humbly, 
As  if  praying  dumbly. 
Over  her  breast ! 

Owning  her  weakness, 
Her  evil  behavior, 
And  leaving,  with  meekness, 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour  ! 


273 


FAREWELL    LIFE. 

Farewell  Life  !     My  senses  swim. 
And  the  world  is  growing  dim  : 
Thronging  shadows  crowd  the  light, 
Like  the  advent  of  the  night ; 


274  THOMAS    HOOD. 

Colder,  colder,  colder  still. 
Upward  starts  a  vapor  chill  ; 
Strong  the  earthly  odor  grows,  — 
I  smell  the  mould  above  the  rose ! 

Welcome  Life  !     The  Spirit  strives  ! 
Strength  returns,  and  hope  revives  ; 
Cloudy  fears  and  shapes  forlorn 
Fly  like  shadows  at  the  morn,  — 
O'er  the  earth  there  comes  a  bloom ; 
Sunny  light  for  sullen  gloom. 
Warm  perfume  for  vapor  cold,  — 
I  smell  the  rose  above  the  mould  1 


'm\  ilaM  ^kms. 


HOPE. 


The  world  may  change  from  old  to  new. 

From  new  to  old  again ; 
Yet  Hope  and  Heaven  for  ever  true, 

Within  man's  heart  remain. 
The  dreams  that  bless  the  weary  soul, 

The  struggles  of  the  strong, 
Are  steps  towards  some  happy  goal, 

The  story  of  Hope's  song. 

Hope  leads  the  child  to  plant  the  flower, 

The  man  to  sow  the  seed  ; 
Nor  leaves  fulfilment  to  her  hour, 

But  prompts  again  to  deed. 
And  ere  upon  the  old  man's  dust 

The  grass  is  seen  to  wave, 

275 


276  SARAH   FLOWER   ADAMS. 

We  look  through  fallen  tears  —  to  trust 
Hope's  sunshine  on  the  grave. 

Oh  no  !  it  is  no  flattering  lure, 

No  fancy  weak  or  fond, 
When  Hope  would  bid  us  rest  secure 

In  better  life  beyond. 
Nor  loss  nor  shame,  nor  grief  nor  sin, 

Her  promise  may  gainsay  ; 
The  voice  Divine  hath  spoke  within, 

And  God  did  ne'er  betray. 


FAITH  IN  DIVINE   GOODNESS. 

He  sendeth  sun,  He  sendeth  shower, 
Alike  they're  needful  to  the  flower, 
And  joys  and  tears  alike  are  sent 
To  give  the  soul  fit  nourishment. 
As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 
•Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done ! 

Can  loving  children  e'er  reprove 

With  murmurs  whom  they  trust  and  love? 

Creator,  I  would  ever  be 

A  trusting,  loving  child  to  Thee. 

As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 

Father   Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  ! 


SARAH    FLOWER   ADAMS.  377 

O,  ne'er  will  I  at  life  repine  ! 
Enough  that  Thou  hast  made  it  mine. 
When  falls  the  shadow  cold  of  death, 
I  yet  will  sing,  with  parting  breath. 
As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 
Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  ! 


NEABER  TO  THEE. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 

Nearer  to  Thee ! 
Ee'n  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  — 

Nearer  to  Thee ! 

Though  like  a  wanderer  — 
The  sun  gone  down, 

Darkness  comes  over  me, 
My  rest  a  stone  ; 

Yet  in  my  dreams  I'd  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  — 
Nearer  to  Thee  ! 

There  let  the  way  appear 

Steps  unto  heaven  ; 
All  that  Thou  sendest  me 

In  mercy  given  ; 


278  SARAH    FLOWER    ADAMS. 

Angels  to  beckon  me 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  — 
Nearer  to  Thee  ! 

Then  with  my  waking  thoughtj 
Bright  with  Thy  praise, 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs 
Bethel  I'll  raise ; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  — 
Nearer  to  Thee  ! 

Or,  if  on  joyful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky. 
Sun,  moon  and  stars  forgot. 

Upwards  I  fly  — 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  — 

Nearer  to  Thee ! 


Claries  P^cH^S, 


THE   CHILD    AND   THE   MOURNERS, 

A  LITTLE  child,  beneath  a  tree 

Sat  and  chanted  cheerily 

A  little  song,  a  pleasant  song, 

Which  was  —  she  sang  it  all  day  long  — 

"  When  the  wind  blows  the  blossoms  fall ; 

But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all." 

There  passed  a  lady  by  the  way, 
Moaning  in  the  face  of  day  : 
There  were  tears  upon  her  cheek, 
Grief  in  her  heart  too  great  to  speak  ; 
Her  husband  died  but  yester-morn, 
And  left  her  in  the  world  forlorn. 

»» 
She  stopped  and  listened  to  the  child 

That  looked  to  heaven,  and  singing,  smiled ; 

279 


280  CHARLES    MACKAY. 

And  saw  not  for  her  own  despair. 
Another  lady,  young  and  fair, 
Who  also  passing,  stopped  to  hear 
The  infant's  anthem  ringing  clear. 

For  she  but  few  sad  days  before 

Had  lost  the  little  babe  she  bore  ; 

And  grief  was  heavy  at  her  soul 

As  that  sweet  memory  o'er  her  stole, 

And  showed  how  bright  had  been  the  Past, 

The  Present  drear  and  overcast. 

And  as  they  stood  beneath  the  tree 
Listening,  soothed  and  placidly, 
A  youth  came  by,  whose  sunken  eyes 
Spake  of  a  load  of  miseries ; 
And  he,  arrested  like  the  twain, 
Stopped  to  listen  to  the  strain. 

Death  had  bowed  the  youthful  head 
Of  his  bride  beloved,  his  bride  unwed  : 
Her  marriage  robes  were  fitted  on, 
Her  fair  young  face  with  blushes  shone. 
When  the  destroyer  smote  her  low, 
And  changed  the  lover's  bliss  to  woe. 

And  these  three  listened  to  the  song, 
Silver-toned,  and  sweet,  and  strong. 
Which  that  child,  the  livelong  day, 
Chanted  to  itself  in  play  : 


CHARLES    MACKAY.  281 

"  When  the  wind  blows  the  blossoms  fall, 
But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all." 

The  widow's  lips  impulsive  moved  ; 
The  mother's  grief,  tho'  unreproved, 
Softened,  as  her  tremblinor  tono-ue 

O  S3 

Repeated  what  the  infant  sung ; 
And  the  sad  lover,  with  a  start, 
Conned  it  over  to  his  heart. 

And  though  the  child  —  if  child  it  were. 
And  not  a  seraph  sitting  there  — 
Was  seen  no  more,  the  sorrowing  three 
Went  on  their  way  resignedly, 
The  song  still  ringing  in  their  ears  — 
Was  it  music  of  the  spheres? 

Who  shall  tell  ?     They  did  not  know. 
But  in  the  midst  of  deepest  woe 
The  strain  recurred  when  sorrow  grew, 
To  warn  them,  and  console  them  too  : 
"  When  the  wind  blows  the  blossoms  fall, 
But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all." 


THE   LITTLE  MOLES. 

When  canting  hypocrites  combine 
To  curb  a  free  man's  thought. 
And  hold  all  doctrine  undivine 
That  holds  their  canting  naught ; 


282  CHARLES    MACKAY. 

When  round  their  narrow  pale  they  plod, 

And  scornfully  assume 

That  all  without  are  cursed  of  God, 

And  justify  the  doom  :  — 

We  think  of  God's  eternal  love 

And  strong  in  hope  reply, 

Grub,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground, 

There'^s  sunshine  in  the  sky. 

When  smug  philosophers  survey 

The  various  climes  of  earth, 

And  mourn,  poor  sagelings  of  a  day ! 

Its  too  prolific  birth  ; 

And  prove  by  figure,  rule,  and  plan. 

The  large  fair  world  too  small 

To  feed  the  multitudes  of  man 

That  flourish  on  its  ball  : 

We  view  the  vineyards  on  the  hills. 

Or  corn-fields  waving  high  ;  — 

Grub,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground^ 

There''s  sunshine  in  the  sky. 

When  men  complain  of  human  kind 

In  misanthropic  mood. 

And  thinking  evil  things,  grow  blind 

To  presence  of  the  good  ; 

When,  walled  in  prejudices  strong. 

They  urge  that  evermore 

The  world  is  fated  to  go  wrong 

For  going  wrong  before  : 


CHARLES    MACKAY. 


383 


We  feel  the  truths  they  cannot  feel, 
And  smile  as  we  reply, 
Grub,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground. 
There's  sunshine  in  the  sky. 


OLD   OPINIONS. 


Once  we  thought  that  Power  Eternal 

Had  decreed  the  woes  of  man  ; 
That  the  human  heart  was  wicked 

Since  its  pulses  first  began  ; 
That  the  earth  was  but  a  prison, 

Dark  and  joyless  at  the  best, 
And  that  men  were  born  for  evil, 

And  imbibed  it  from  the  breast ; 
That  'twas  vain  to  think  of  urging 

Any  earthly  progress  on. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 

Once  we  thought  that  Kings  were  holy 

Doing  wrong  by  right  divine  ; 
That  the  Church  was  Lord  of  Conscience, 

Despot  over  Mine  and  Thine : 
That  whatever  priests  commanded, 

No  one  could  reject  and  live  ; 
And  that  all  who  differed  from  them 

It  was  error  to  forgive, — 


284  CHARLES    MACKAY. 

Right  to  send  to  stake  or  halter 

With  eternal  malison. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 

Once  we  thought  that  holy  Freedom 

Was  a  cursed  and  tainted  thing ; 
Foe  of  Peace  and  Law  and  Virtue  ; 

Foe  of  Magistrate  and  King  ; 
That  all  vile  degraded  passion 

Ever  followed  in  her  path  ; 
Lust  and  Phinder,  War  and  Rapine, 

Tears,  and  Anarchy,  and  Wrath  ; 
That  the  angel  was  a  cruel, 

Haughty,  blood-stained  Amazon. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 

Once  we  thought  that  Education 

Was  a  luxury  for  the  few  ; 
That  to  give  it  to  the  many 

Was  to  give  it  scope  undue  ; 
That  'twas  foolish  to  imagine 

It  could  be  as  free  as  air, 
Common  as  the  glorious  sunshine 

To  the  child  of  want  and  care; 
That  the  poor  man,  educated. 

Quarreled  with  his  toil  anon. 
Old  opinions  !  rogs  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 


CHARLES    MACKAY.  285 

Old  opinions,  rags  and  tatters; 

Ye  are  worn  ;  —  ah,  quite  threadbare  ! 
We  must  cast  you  off  for  ever  ;  — 

We  are  wiser  than  we  were  : 
Never  fitting,  always  cramping, 

Letting  in  the  wind  and  sleet, 
Chilling  us  with  rheums  and  agues, 

Or  inflaming  us  with  heat. 
We  have  found  a  mental  raiment 

Purer,  whiter  to  put  on. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone !  get  you  gone  ! 


"WE  AEE  WISER  THAN  WE  KNOW." 

Thou,  who  in  the  midnight  silence 

Lookest  to  the  orbs  on  high, 

Feeling  humbled,  yet  elated, 

In  the  presence  of  the  sky ; 

Thou,  who  minglest  with  thy  sadness 

Pride  ecstatic,  awe  divine. 

That  ev'n  thou  canst  trace  their  progress 

And  the  law  by  which  they  shine  — 

Intuition  shall  uphold  thee, 

Even  though  reason  drag  thee  low  ; 

Lean  on  faith,  look  up  rejoicing, 

We  are  wiser  than  we  know. 


286  CHARLES    MACKAT. 

Thou,  who  hearest  plaintive  music, 

Or  sweet  songs  of  other  days  ; 

Heaven-revealing  organs  pealing, 

Or  clear  voices  hymning  praise, 

And  wouldst  weep,  thou  know'st  not  wherefore^ 

Though  thy  soul  is  steeped  in  joy  ; 

And  the  world  looks  kindly  on  thee, 

And  thy  bliss  hath  no  alloy  — 

Weep,  nor  seek  for  consolation. 

Let  the  heaven-sent  droplets  flow, 

They  are  hints  of  mighty  secrets, 

We  are  wiser  than  we  know. 

Thou,  who  in  the  noon-time  brightness 
Seest  a  shadow  undefined  ; 
Hear'st  a  voice  that  indistinctly 
Whispers  caution  to  thy  mind  : 
Thou,  who  hast  a  vague  foreboding 
That  a  peril  may  be  near, 
Even  when  Nature  smiles  around  thee, 
And  thy  Conscience  holds  thee  clear  — 
Trust  the  warning  —  look  before  thee  — 
Angels  may  the  mirror  show, 
Dimly  still,  but  sent  to  guide  thee, 
We  are  wiser  than  we  know. 

Countless  chords  of  heavenly  music. 
Struck  ere  earthly  time  began. 
Vibrate  in  immortal  concord 
To  the  answering  soul  of  man  : 


CHAELES    MACK  AY. 


287 


Countless  rays  of  heavenly  glory 
Shine  through  spirit  pent  in  clay, 
On  the  wise  men  at  their  labors, 
On  the  children  at  their  play. 
Man  has  gazed  on  heavenly  secrets, 
Sunned  himself  in  heavenly  glow. 
Seen  the  glory,  heard  the  music, 
Wc  are  wiser  than  we  know. 


Slarg  fotoitt. 


CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

Listen,  all  ye  Christian  people. 

Let  no  fears  your  souls  dismay  ; 
God's  own  Son,  the  Lord,  the  Saviour 

He  was  oorn  on  Christmas  day. 
All  the  earth  was  bound  in  sadness, 

Darkness  lay  upon  the  land. 
And  the  silence  of  the  midnight. 

When  the  moment  was  at  hand  ; 
When  through  all  the  midnight  darkness, 

Through  the  world's  sad  heart  forlorn, 
Passed  a  thrill  of  life  ecstatic  ;  — 

And  the  Christ !  the  Christ  was  born  ! 

Nature  owned  the  glad  emotion  ; 
And  the  simple  shepherd  folk, 

288 


MART    HOAVTTT.  I 

As  if  day  shone  out  above  them, 

With  the  joyful  impulse  woke  ; 
Woke,  and  lo  !   a  glorious  vision 

Filled  their  souls  with  wondering  awe, 
And  ten  thousand  holy  angels, 

Thronging  all  the  heavens,  they  saw. 
And  they  heard  them  sing,  as  never 

Skylark  sang  above  the  corn,  — 
"Peace  on  earlli   and  cnu!»'«-  blessing! 

For  the  Christ !  the  Christ  is  born  !  - 

"  Sons  and  daughters  of  affliction, 

Join  great  Nature's  choral  voice  ! 
Thou,  the  captive  ;  thou,  the  stranger  ; 

Thou,  the  poor,  rejoice  !  rejoice  ! 
Weeping  mother,  cease  thy  anguish, 

For  thy  first-born  gone  astray  ; 
Christ  is  born,  the  dear  Redeemer, 

Who  will  save  the  castaway  ! 
Little  toiling  orphan  children, 

Heirs  of  destiny  forlorn, 
Weep  not,  for  the  true  Consoler  — 

Christ,  the  mourner's  Friend  —  is  born  ! 

"  Sinner,  conscious  of  transgression, 
Scorned  of  men,  outcast  and  vile, 

Christ  is  born,  whose  blood  shall  cleanse  thee, 
And  to  God  shall  reconcile  ! 

Noble  spirit,  patriot,  poet, 

Thirsting  to  be  great  and  free, 


390  MARY    HOWITT. 

Christ  is  born,  thy  true  ensample, 
Dying  on  the  Cross  for  thee  !  " 

Thus  they  sang,  those  holy  angels, 
'Mid  the  pallid  stars  of  morn, 

**  Peace  on  earth,  and  endless  blessing ! 
For  the  Christ !  the  Christ  is  born  ! " 


MAN'S   JUDGMENT, 

Name  her  not,  the  guilty  one, 
Virtue  turns  aside  for  shame 
At  the  mention  of  her  name  : 

Very  evilly  hath  she  done. 

Pity  is  on  her  misspent : 

She  was  born  of  guilty  kin. 

Her  life's  course  hath  guilty  been ; 

Never  unto  school  she  went. 

And  whate'er  she  learned  was  sin ; 
Let  her  die ! 

She  was  nurtured  for  her  fate ; 

Beautiful  she  was,  and  vain ; 

Like  a  child  of  sinful  Cain, 
She  was  born  a  reprobate. 
Lives  like  hers  the  world  defile ; 

Plead  not  for  her,  let  her  die, 
As  the  child  of  infamy, 


MARY    HO  WITT. 


291 


Ignorant  and  poor  and  vile, 
Plague-spot  m  the  public  eye; 
Let  her  die  ! 

THE   HEART   OF   THE   OUTCAST. 

I  AM  young,  alas  !  so  young  ! 

And  the  world  has  been  my  foe  ; 

And  by  hardship,  wrong,  and  woe, 
Hath  my  bleeding  heart  been  stung. 
There  was  none,  O  God,  to  teach  me 

What  was  wrong  and  what  was  right. 

I  have  sinned  before  Thy  sight ; 
Let  my  cry  of  anguish  reach  Thee, 

Piercing  through  the  glooms  of  night, 
God  of  love  ! 

Man  is  cruel,  and  doth  smother 
Tender  mercy  in  his  breast ; 
Lays  fresh  burdens  on  the  oppressed  , 

Pities  not  an  erring  brother. 

Pities  not  the  stormy  throes 
Of  the  soul  despair  hath  riven, 
Nor  the  brain  to  madness  driven. 

No  one  but  the  sinner  knows 
What  it  means  to  be  forgiven, 

God  of  love ! 

Therefore  will  I  put  my  trust 
In  thy  mercy  :  and  I  cleave 


293  MART    HOWITT. 

To  that  love  which  can  forgive  ; 
To  that  judgment  which  is  just ; 
Which  can  pity  all  my  weakness  ; 

Which  hath  seen  the  life-long  strife 

Of  passions  fiercer  than  the  knife  ; 
Known  the  desolating  bleakness. 

Of  my  desert  path  through  life, 
God  of  love  ! 

1  must  perish  in  my  youth  ; 
And  had  I  been  better  taught, 
And  did  Virtue  as  it  ought, 

And  had  grey-haired  Wisdom  ruth, 

I  should  not  have  fallen  so  low. 
'Tis  the  power  of  circumstance, 
*Tis  the  wretch's  dire  mischance, 

To  be  born  to  sin  and  woe. 
Pity  Thou  my  ignorance, 

God  of  love ' 


REJOICING  IN  HEAVEN. 

Young  spirit,  freed  from  bondage, 
Rejoice  !     Thy  work  is  done  ; 

The  weary  world  is  'neath  thy  feet ; 
Thou,  brighter  than  the  sun  ! 


MART   HO  WITT.  293 

Arise,  put  on  the  garments 

Which  the  redeemed  win. 
Now,  sorrow  hath  no  part  in  thee, 

Thoa,  sanctified  from  sin  ! 

Awake,  and  breathe  the  living  air 

Of  our  celestial  clime ! 
Awake  to  love  which  knows  no  change. 

Thou,  who  hast  done  with  time ! 

Awake  !     Lift  up  thy  joyful  eyes. 

See,  all  heaven's  host  appears ; 
And  be  thou  glad  exceedingly. 

Thou,  who  hast  done  with  tears. 

Awake  !  descend  !     Thou  art  not  now 

With  those  of  mortal  birth  ; 
The  living  God  hath  touched  thy  lips, 

Thou,  who  hast  done  with  earth ! 


THE   GRAVE'S   VICTOR. 

Yes,  than  earth's  miglftiest  mightier, 
O  Grave,  thou  hast  thy  vanquisher ! 
Long  in  thy  night  was  man  forlorn, 
Long  didst  thou  laugh  his  hope  to  scorn 
Vainly  Philosophy  might  dream  :  — 
Her  light  was  but  the  meteor  gleam, 


294  MART    HOWITT. 

Till  rose  the  Conqueror  of  Death,  — 
The  humble  Man  of  Nazareth  : 
He  stood  between  us  and  despair  ; 
He  bore,  and  gave  us  strength  to  bear  ; 
The  mysteries  of  the  grave  unsealed, 
Our  glorious  destiny  revealed  ; 
Nor  sage  nor  bard  may  comprehend 
The  heaven  of  rest  to  which  we  tend. 
Our  home  is  not  this  mortal  clime; 
Our  life  hath  not  its  bounds  in  time  ; 
And  death  is  but  the  cloud  that  lies 
Between  our  souls  and  paradise. 

O  Gtave  !  well  might  each  thoughtful  race 
Give  thee  tlie  high  and  holy  place  . 
Mountains  anti  groves  were  meet  for  thee, 
Thou  portal  of  eternity  ! 


!I]i%  laiES  Sailes. 


SONG  OF  THE   SAINTS. 

FROM   "FESTUS." 

Call  all  who  love  Thee,  Lord  !  to  Thee ; 

Thou  knowest  how  they  long 
To  leave  these  broken  lays,  and  aid 

In  Heaven's  unceasing  song  ; 
How  they  long,  Lord  !  to  go  to  Thee, 

And  hail  Thee  with  their  eyes,  — 
Thee  in  Thy  blessedness,  and  all 

The  nations  of  the  skies. 

All  who  have  loved  Thee  and  done  well, 

Of  every  age,  creed,  clime. 
The  host  of  saved  ones  from  the  ends 

And  all  the  worlds  of  time : 

295 


296  PHILIP    JAMES    BAILEY. 

The  wise  in  matter  and  in  mind, 
The  soldier,  sage,  and  priest, 

King,  prophet,  hero,  saint,  and  bard, 
The  greatest  soul  and  least. 

The  old  and  young  and  very  babe, 

The  maiden  and  the  youth. 
All  re-born  angels  of  one  age  — 

The  age  of  Heaven  and  truth ; 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  good,  the  bad, 

Redeemed  alike  from  sin  ; 
Lord  !  close  the  book  of  time,  and  let 

Eternity  begin. 


THIS  LIFE'S  ULTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE. 

And  as  the  vesper  hymn  of  Time  precedes 
The  starry  matins  of  Eternity 
And  daybreak  of  existence  in  the  Heavens,  — 
To  know  this,  is  to  know  we  shall  depart 
Into  the  storm-surrounding  calm  on  high. 
The  sacred  cirque,  the  all-central  infinite 
Of  that  self-blessedness  wherein  abides 
Our  God,  all  kind,  all  loving,  all  beloved  ;  — 
To  feel  life  one  great  ritual,  and  its  laws 
Writ  in  the  vital  rubric  of  the  blood. 
Flow  in  obedience  and  flow  out  command, 


PHILIP   JAMES    BAILEY. 

In  sealike  circulation  ;  and  be  here 

Accepted  as  a  gift  by  Him,  who  gives, 

An  empire  as  an  alms,  nor  counts  it  aught, 

So  long  as  all  his  creatures  joy  in  Him, 

The  great  Rejoicer  of  the  Universe, 

Whom  all  the  boundless  spheres  of  Being  bless. 


297 


THE  MAIDEN'S   PRAYER. 

FROM    ••  THE    ANGEL    WORLD." 


My  Lord,  my  God ! 
Thine  is  the  Spirit  which  commands  and  smiles  ; 
The  soul  which  serves  and  suffers  ; —  Thine  the  stars 
Tabled  upon  Thy  bosom  like  the  stones 
Oracular  of  light,  on  the  priest's  breast ; 
Thine  the  minutest  mote  the  moonbeams  shew  ! 
Let  but  Thy  words  come  true,  and  all  are  blest ; 
Be  but  Thine  infinite  intents  fulfilled,  — 
And  what  shall  foil  the  covenanted  oath 
Whereon  the  mounded  earth  is  based  ?  —  and  lo  ! 
The  whole  at  last  redeemed  and  glorified. 


Pitt  §xmM  miiMtt 


TATTLER. 


Tauler,  the  preacher,  walked,  one  autumn  day, 
Without  the  walls  of  Strasburg,  by  the  Rhine, 
Pondering  the  solemn  miracle  of  life, 
As  one  who,  wandering  in  the  starless  night. 
Feels,  momently,  the  jar  of  unseen  waves, 
And  hears  the  thunder  of  an  unknown  sea, 
Breaking  along  an  unimagined  shore. 

And  as  he  walked  he  prayed  —  even  the  same 
Old  prayer  with  which,  for  half  a  score  of  years, 
Morning,  and  noon,  and  evening,  lip  and  heart 
Had  groaned  :  "  Have  pity  upon  me,  O  Lord  ! 
Thou  seest,  while  teaching  others,  I  am  blind : 
Send  me  a  man  that  can  direct  my  steps  !  " 

298 


JOHX    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER.  299 

Then,  as  he  mused,  he  heard  along  his  path 
A  sound  as  of  an  old  man's  staif  among 
The  dry,  dead  linden  leaves,  and  looking  up 
He  saw  a  stranger,  weak,  and  poor,  and  old. 

"Peace  unto  thee,  father !  "  Tauler  said  : 
"  God  gives  thee  a  good  day  !  "     The  old  man  raised 
Slowly  his  calm  blue  eyes.     "  I  thank  thee,  son  ; 
But  all  my  days  are  good,  and  none  are  ill." 

Wondering  thereat,  the  preacher  spake  again  : 

"  God  give  thee  a  happy  life."     The  old  man  smiled  : 

"  I  never  am  unhappy." 

Tauler  laid 
His  hand  upon  the  stranger's  coarse  gray  sleeve  : 
"  Tell  me,  O  father,  what  thy  strange  words  mean. 
Surely  man's  days  are  evil,  and  his  life 
Sad  as  the  grave  it  leads  to."     "  Nay,  my  son, 
Our  times  are  in  God's  hands,  and  all  our  days 
Are  as  our  needs  :  for  shadow  as  for  sun, 
For  cold  as  heat,  for  want  as  wealth,  alike 
Our  thanks  are  due,  since  that  is  best  which  is, 
And  that  which  is  not,  sharing  not  His  life, 
Is  evil  only  as  devoid  of  good. 
And  for  the  happiness  of  which  I  spake, 
I  find  it  in  submission  to  His  will, 
And  calm  trust  in  the  holy  Trinity, 
Its  knowledge,  goodness,  and  almighty  power.*' 


300  JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER. 

Silently  wondering  for  a  little  space 

Stood  the  great  preacher  ;  then  he  spake  as  one 

Who,  suddenly  grappling  with  a  haunting  thought, 

Which  long  has  followed,  whispering  through  the  dark 

Strange  terrors,  drags  it,  shrieking,  into  light  : 

"  What  if  God's  will  consign  thee  hence  to  hell  1 " 

"  Then,"  said  the  stranger,  cheerily,  "  be  it  so. 
What  hell  may  be  I  know  not  ;  this  I  know  — 
I  cannot  lose  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 
One  arm,  Humility,  takes  hold  upon 
His  dear  Humanity  ;  the  other.  Love, 
Clasps  his  Divinity.     So,  where  I  go 
He  goes  ;  and  better  fire-walled  hell  with  Him 
Than  golden-gated  paradise  without." 

Tears  sprang  in  Tauler's  eyes.     A  sudden  light, 
Like  the  first  ray  that  fell  on  chaos,  clove 
Apart  the  shadow  wherein  he  had  walked 
Darkly  at  noon.     And,  as  the  strange  old  man 
Went  his  slow  way  until  his  silver  hair 
Set  like  the  white  moon,  where  the  hills  of  vines 
Slope  to  the  Rhine,  he  bowed  his  head  and  said : 
"  My  prayer  is  answered.     God  hath  sent  the  man 
Long  sought,  to  teach  me,  by  his  simple  trust, 
Wisdom  the  weary  schoolmen  never  knew." 

So,  entering  with  a  changed  and  cheerful  step 
The  city  gates,  he  saw,  far  down  the  street, 
A  mighty  shadow  break  the  light  of  noon. 


JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIEE.  301 

Which  tracing  backward  till  its  airy  lines 

Hardened  to  stony  plinths,  he  raised  his  eyes 

O'er  broad  fa-cade  and  lofty  pediment, 

O'er  architrave  and  frieze  and  sainted  niche, 

Up  the  stone  lace- work,  chiseled  by  the  wise 

Erwin  of  Steinbach,  dizzily  up  to  where 

In  the  noon  brightness  the  great  minster's  tower, 

Jewelled  with  sunbeams  on  its  mural  crown, 

Rose  like  a  visible  prayer.     "  Behold  !  "  he  said, 

"  The  stranger's  faith  made  plain  before  mine  eyes ! 

As  yonder  tower  outstretches  to  the  earth 

The  dark  triangle  of  its  shade  alone 

When  the  clear  day  is  shining  on  its  top. 

So  darkness  in  the  pathway  of  man's  life 

Is  but  the  shadow  of  God's  providence. 

By  the  great  sun  of  wisdom  cast  thereon  ; 

And  what  is  dark  below  is  liorht  in  heaven ! " 


THE  ANGEL   OF   PATIENCE. 
A  FREE  PARAPHRASE  OF  THE  GERMAN. 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes, 
God's  meekest  Angel  gently  comes ; 
No  power  has  he  to  banish  pain. 
Or  give  us  back  our  lost  again. 
And  yet,  in  tenderest  love,  our  dear 
And  Heavenly  Father  sends  him  here. 


303  JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER. 

There's  quiet  in  that  Angel's  glance, 
There's  rest  in  his  still  countenance  ; 
He  mocks  no  grief  with  idle  cheer, 
Nor  wounds  with  words  the  mourner's  ear ; 
But  ills  and  woes  he  may  not  cure, 
He  kindly  learns  us  to  endure. 

Angel  of  Patience  !  sent  to  calm 
Our  feverish  brow  with  cooling  balm; 
To  lay  the  storms  of  hope  and  fear, 
And  reconcile  life's  smile  and  tear; 
And  throbs  of  wounded  pride  to  still, 
And  make  our  own  our  Father's  will 

Oh  !  thou,  who  mournest  on  thy  way, 
With  longings  for  the  close  of  day, 
He  walks  with  thee,  that  Angel  kind, 
And  gently  whispers,  —  "  Be  resigned  ! 
Bear  up,  bear  on,  the  end  shall  tell 
The  dear  Lord  ordereth  all  things  well  i  " 


|[0W  Pc0ll 

1814-1837. 


L1"NES  WKITTEN  IN  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH.* 

The  dew  is  on  the  summer's  greenest  grass, 

Through  which  the  modest  daisy  blushing  peeps ; 

The  gentle  wind  that  like  a  ghost  doth  pass, 
A  waving  shadow  on  the  corn-field  keeps  ; 

But  I  who  love  them  all  shall  never  be 

Again  among  the  woods,  or  on  the  moorland  lea  ! 

The  sun  shines  sweetly  —  sweeter  may  it  shine  !  — 
Blessed  is  the  brightness  of  a  summer  day ; 

It  cheers  lone  hearts  ;  and  why  should  I  repine, 
Although  among  green  fields  I  cannot  stray ! 

Woods  1  I  have  grown,  since  last  I  heard  you  wave, 

Familiar  now  with  death,  and  neighbor  to  the  grave ! 

*  It  is  believed  that  this  was  the  last,  or  among  the  very  last,  of 
Nicoll's  compositions. 

303 


304  ROBERT    NICOLL. 

These  woods  have  shaken  mighty  human  souls  — 
Like  a  sepulchral  echo  drear  they  sound' — 

E'en  as  the  owl's  wild  whoop  at  midnight  rolls 
The  ivied  remnants  of  old  ruins  round. 

Yet  wherefore  tremble  ?     Can  the  soul  decay  ?  — 

Or  that  which  thinks  and   feels,   in   aught  e'er    fade 
away? 

Are  there  not  aspirations  in  each  heart, 
After  a  better,  brighter  world  than  this  ? 

Longings  for  beings  nobler  in  each  part  — 

Things  more  exalted  —  steeped  in  deeper  bliss? 

Who  gave  us  these  ?     What  are  they  ?     Soul !  in  thee 

The  bud  is  budding  now  for  immortality ! 

Death  comes  to  take  me  where  I  long  to  be ; 

One   pang,  and    then    bright    blooms  th'  immortal 
flower  ; 
Death  comes  to  lead  me  from  mortality 

To  lands  which  know  not  one  unhappy  hour  : 
I  have  a  hope  —  a  faith  ;  —  from  sorrow  here 
I'm  led  by  death  away  —  why  should  I  start  and  fear  1 

If  1  have  loved  the  forest  and  the  field, 
Can  I  not  love  them  deeper,  better,  there  ? 

If  all  that  power  hath  made,  to  mc  doth  yield 

Somethmg  of  good  and  beauty  —  something  fair  — 

Freed  from  the  grossness  of  mortality. 

May  I  not  love  them  all,  and  better  all  enjoy? 


ROBERT   NICOLL.  305 

A  change  from  woe  to  joy  —  from  earth  to  heaven  — 
Death  gives  me  this  ;  —  it  leads  me  calmly  where 

The  souls  that  long  ago  from  mine  were  riven 
May  meet  again !     Death  answers  many  a  prayer. 

Bright  day  !  shine  on  —  be  glad  :  —  days  brighter  far 

Are  stretched  before  my  eyes  than  those  of  mortals  are. 

I  would  be  laid  among  the  wildest  flowers, 

I  would  be  laid  where  happy  hearts  can  come  :  — 

The  worthless  clay  I  heed  not ;  but  in  hours 
Of  gushing  noontide  joy,  it  may  be,  some 

Will  dwell  upon  my  name  ;  and  I  will  be 

A  happy  spirit  there,  affection's  look  to  see. 

Death  is  upon  me^  yet  I  fear  not  now  :  — 
Open  my  chamber-window  —  let  me  look 

Upon  the  silent  vales  —  the  sunny  glow 

That  fills  each  alley,  close,  and  copsewood  nook : 

I  know  them  —  love  them  —  mourn  not  them  to  leave  ; 

Existence  and  its  change  my  spirit  cannot  grieve ! 


C|Hima2  f  au  i0tons|tnlr. 


SERMONS    IN    SONNETS. 


"  iso  limeB  of  restitution  of  all  things."    mc*»,  ««^  _. 

liiVE  evil  but  an  end  —  and  all  is  clear  ! 

Make  it  eternal  —  all  things  are  obscured  ! 

And  all  that  we  have  thought,  felt,  wept,  endured, 

Worthless.     We  feel  that  ev'n  if  our  own  tear 

Were  wiped  away  for  ever,  no  true  cheer 

Could  to  our  yearning  bosoms  be  secured 

While  we  believed  that  sorrow  clung  uncured 

To  any  being  we  on  earth  held  dear. 

Oh,  much  doth  life  the  sweet  solution  want 

Of  all  made  blest  in  far  futurity  ! 

Heaven  needs  it  too.     Our  bosoms  yearn  and  pant 

Rather  indeed  our  God  to  justify 

Than  our  own  selves.     Oh,  why  then  drop  the  key 

That  tunes  discordant  worlds  to  harmony  1 

306 


nHATINCEY    HARE   TOWNSHE-N^D.  307 

II. 

'  ^peak  good  of  his  name."    Psalm  c.  4 

Oh  no,  great  God  !     We  feel  Thou  canst  not  be 

Spectator  or  upholder  of  distress, 

So  long,  indeed,  as  it  is  objectless. 

No !  ii  Thou  look'st  on  sorrow,  'tis  to  see 

Its  benefit  and  end.     If  before  Thee 

One  hopeless  ill  could  spread  the  smallest  shroud, 

Oh,  would'st  Thou  not  dissolve  it  as  a  cloud 

In  the  mere  fervors  of  Thy  radiancy  ? 

'Tis  so !     And  Thou  Thy  dearest  Son  didst  send 

That  message  of  a  boundless  love  to  make  ; 

Not  as  a  mockery  —  more  the  heart  to  rend, 

If  all  were  offered  what  but  few  could  take  ! 

Not  as  a  thing  of  words  —  but  as  a  meed, 

Which,  like  Thyself,  is  Truth  and  Love  indeed. 


m. 

*  He  that  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but  delivered  him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall  he  not  1 
him  also  freely  give  us  all  things  ?  "    Eomans,  yiii.  32. 

Oh,  not  Thyself,  great  God,  to  satisfy 

(Who  in  Thyself  dost  hold  a  full  content), 

Was  Thy  dear  Son  unto  our  being  lent 

To  walk  on  earth,  to  suffer,  and  to  die ! 

But  'twas  to  still  the  heart's  own  pier&ing  cry 

For  Expiation.     'Twas  divinely  meant 

To  show  which  way  Thy  tender  mercy  went 


308  CHAUNCET    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

When  Thou  createdst  man  —  the  remedy 

For  a  disease  which  did  thy  pity  move, 

None  'scaping  it  —  for  none  are  good  but  Thou  ! 

Oh,  'twas  the  crowning  act  of  Thy  dear  love, 

Supreme  assurance,  sent  us  from  above, 

That  Thou  would'st  save,  and  with  all  joy  endow 

Thy  children,  trembling  in  their  human  sense 

With  dim  mysterious  warnings  of  offence. 


IV. 


"  The  Word  was  made  flesh,  and  dwelt  among  us."    St.  John,  1. 14. 

And  so  Thou  wert  made  man  !     A  visible  sign 
That  Thou  for  ever  didst  by  man  mean  well. 
Made    man    Thou  wert ;    else  how,  Lord,  could'st 

Thou  tell 
How  feels  the  human  moulded  from  divine  1 
What  wars  of  being  call  for  aid  benign, 
And  dear  indulgence  ?     What  sad  fears  to  quell, 
Which  make  Thee  —  Thee  !     Creator  of  a  hell 
Forged  by  our  sinful  selves  when  fears  condign 
Have  blotted  out  Thy  light.     All  this  to  know 
By  sad  experience,  Thou  to  man  wert  made  ; 
And  in  this  word  —  of  man  — the  whole  is  said, 
All  pain,  all  want,  all  fear,  all  forms  of  woe. 
In  thought  eternal  these  now  rest  with  Thee, 
Thou  took'st  them  on  Thyself —  but  man  is  free  I 


CHAUNCEY    HAEE   TOW^SHEIH).  309 

V. 

"  Wc  are  chastened  that  we  be  not  condemned."    1  Corinthian*,  iL  83^ 

Yes,  chastisement  must  be  !  — only,  instead 
Of  bitter  vengeance,  read  corrective  love. 
Methinks    this    thought    would    more   impress   and 

move, 
And  realizing  influence  o'er  us  shed, 
Than  all  fantastic  terrors,  bigot-bred. 
Souls  by  the  just  and  true  alone  improve  ; 
And  true  it  is,  that  ill  acts  from  above 
Draw  down  a  retribution  on  the  head  ; 
But  stripes  of  vengeful  wrath  no  bettering  bring. 
Only,  when  smitten  by  a  Father's  hand. 
We  kiss  the  rod  of  heavenly  chastening, 
That  blossoms  into  joy  like  Aaron's  wand. 
Oh,  then  'twere  wise  weak  mortals  to  protect 
From  threats  too  horrible  to  take  effect. 


VI. 

"Behold,  therefore,  the  goodness  and  severity  of  God."    Romana,  U.  23. 

Severity  indeed  true  kindness  is. 

Inspired  by  love  and  wisdom.     Never  we, 

Like  the  wronged  child  of  a  false  charity. 

Shall,    in    the   next    world,    blame   the   Judge   of 

this, 
Bitinor  the  hand  which  we  pretend  to  kiss 


310  CHAUNCET   HARE   TOWNSHEND. 

No ;  for  we  feel  that  we  are  beings  free, 
Not  fettered  by  weak  love,  nor  tyranny ; 
Nor  can  we  say  that  God  hath  dealt  amiss, 
When  sufferings  reach  us  from  the  depths  of  sin. 
Mortals  we  may  suspect,  who  frown  on  us 
For  their  own  pleasure,  or  who  mine  within 
Our  sterner  soul  by  flatteries  dangerous. 
But  God,  we  know,  hath  not  a  selfish  end. 
Smiling,  or  frowning,  still  He  must  befriend. 


VII. 

"  He  shall  send  them  a  saviour."    Isaiah,  xix.  20. 

Saviour  !     There  is  a  beauty  in  the  name  ! 
Who  wants  not  saving  from  some  ill  of  life  } 
Who  has  not  felt  the  torture  and  the  strife 
Of  guilt  or  sorrow  bounding  through  the  frame  } 
Who  has  not  seen  some  cloud  of  fear  or  shame 
Hang  in  his  atmosphere,  with  threatenings  rife  ? 
Or  of  keen  Death  the  ready-whetted  knife 
Towards  his  heart  trembling  ?  —  Then,  in  woes  the 

same. 
Men  should  be  one  in  faith.     O  brotherhood 
Of  sorrow,  wherefore  darken  by  a  ban 
Of  bigot  cruelty,  or  cry  for  blood, 
The  word  which  should  be  sorrow's  talisman  ? 
Let  me  at  least  feel  this,  deep,  deep  within, 
If  from  naught  else,  Thou,  Saviour,  sav'st  from  sin  ! 


CHAITNCEY    HAEE  TOWNSHEND.  311 

vni. 

"And  his  soul  was  grieved  for  the  misery  of  Israel."    Judges,  x.  1& 

Art  Thou  a  cold  Abstraction,  O  Thou  Source 
Of  sweet  affections,  human  tenderness  ; 
When  we  are  yearning  with  a  deep  distress, 
Feel'st   Thou    not  ?     Can    no   sorrow,   no   re- 
morse. 
Touch  Thee  with  somewhat  of  a  kindred  force  ? 
Oh,  dost  Thou  never  grieve  that  we  are  less  — 
Less  perfect  than  Thyself,  by  the  mere  stress 
Of  a  rude  nature,  which,  with  devious  course, 
Must  run  from  Thee,  that  it  may  duly  keep 
An  individual  will,  and  learn  to  choose 
The  good  way  of  itself?     Canst  Thou  refuse 
Thy  sympathy  for  needs  so  sad  and  deep? 
Thou  canst  not,  dost  not !  —  Sure  our  hearts  may  be 
That,  when  we  harm  ourselves,  we  sorrow  Thee. 


IX. 


"  Upholding  all  things  by  the  word  of  his  power."    Hebrews,  1,  3. 

Since  all  things  are,  O  God,  upheld  by  Thee, 
And  Thou  canst  never  quite  withdraw  Thyself 
From  any  work  of  Thine,  else  o'er  the  shelf 
Of  being  it  would  fall,  and  nothing  be, — 
Canst  Thou  uphold  an  endless  misery  1 
Canst  Thou  for  ever  feed  the  ravening  wolf, 
Remorse  ;  gaze  ever  on  Hell's  boiling  gulf? 


313  CHAUNCET    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

That  were  indeed  a  dread  eternity  ! 
But,  no  !     Even  we,  who  over  judgment-halls 
Riot,  and  hold  unfeeling  festivals. 
Would  crush  an  insect  writhing  at  our  feet 
To  put  it  out  of  pain.     Oh,  then,  'tis  sure 
If   Thou,    to    make    some    mighty    scheme    com- 
plete, 
Permittest  111  to  live  —  Thou  know'st  the  cure. 


X. 


"  Can  a  woman  forget  her  sucking  child,  that  she  should  not  have  aompassion  on  the 
son  of  her  womb  ?  yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  will  I  not  forget  thee."    Isaiah,  xlLz.  15. 

The  thought  that  any  should  have  endless  woe 

Would  cast  a  shadow  on  the  throne  of  God, 

And    darken    Heaven.     .    .     From    the    scarce-warm 

clod 
To  Seraphs,  all  Him  as  a  Father  know ; 
He,  all  as  children.     Even  with  us  below 
The  one  rebellious  son  more  thought  and  love 
Than  all  the  rest  will  in  a  parent  move, 
God  stirring  in  us.     Then  how  strong  the  glow 
Of  God's  great  heart  our  sorrows  to  relieve ' 
Could  He  be  blest,  beholding  sufferings, 
And  not  their  end  ?     His  tenderness  would  grieve 
If  even  the  least  of  His  created  things 
Should  miss  of  joy.     In  its  serenity 
God's  present  happiness  proves  ours  to  be. 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOWNSHEND.  313 

XI. 

"  A  new  commandment  I  give  unto  you,  that  ye  love  one  another."    St,  John,  xiiL  3i 

Men  do  indeed  paint  Human  Justice  blind, 
Through  bandaged  sight ;  and  truly.     But  the  day 
Is  coming,  when  the  fillet  snatched  away 
Shall  give  her  eyes  with  equitable  mind 
On  her  own  scales  to  gaze,  and  for  mankind 
To  poise  them  rightly.     Then  by  clearer  ray 
Will  she  her  study-book — man's  soul  —  survey  ; 
And  Christ's  great  law  upon  her  frontlet  bind. 
Now,  ignorant  of  Nature  as  of  God, 
Not  yet  we  learn  that  terrors  ne'er  deter, 
But  harden  and  attract.     That  the  brute  rod 
Makes  rebels,  but  not  children.     That  all  fear 
Instruction  mars.     That  mortals  to  amend, 
First  we  must  show  ourselves  indeed  their  friend. 

XII. 

"  Therefore  will  he  be  exalted,  that  he  may  have  mercy  upon  you."    Isaiah,  xxx.  18. 

Why    through   the   scheme    of  God    doth   vengeance 

roll  ? 
Because,  alas,  men  know  too  well  the  word  !  — 
Because  it  like  a  trumpet's  note  is  heard, 
Waking  no  doubtful  echo  in  the  soul  !  — 
Because  we  are,  in  truth,  most  apt  to  stroll 
In  doubtful  ways  :  —  and  to  the  common  herd 


314  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

The  scourge  is  needful !  — Nor,  indeed,  were  stirred 
Longings  within  us  for  a  heavenly  goal, 
Without  opposing  shades  of  pain  and  fear. 
Yet  in  the  Bible  are  there  sayings  dear, 
Where  God's  great  love,  as  if  to  make  a  path 
Direct  unto  our  apprehensions  dull, 
Dropping  the  garment  of  a  dusky  wrath, 
Stands  forth  in  naked  mercy  beautiful. 


XIII. 


"  O,  speak  good  of  the  Lord,  all  ye  works  of  his,  in  all  places  of  his  dominioni.'* 

Paalvi  ciiL  28. 

Answer,  with  all  thy  pulses,  throb  and  speak, 
Thou  tender,  palpitating  heart  of  God! 
Through  earth,  through  air,  and  caves  of  ocean  broad, 
All  thronged  with  myriad  beings,  strong  or  weak 
In  terror,  or  deep  love  !     Flush  on  the  cheek 
Of  morn,  breathe  sweet  from  evening's  dewy  sod ! 
Tremble  in  music,  'mid  the  choral  ode 
That  from  the  soft  vale  to  the  mountain  peak 
Whispers  or  thunders  !  —  Art  Thou  cold,  or  dead, 
Or  vengeful  ?  —  Hush  !     A  holy  silence  reigns : 
That  our  own  heart,  stilling  our  throbbing  veins, 
And  only  with  its  own  assurance  fed, 
May  be  itself  Thy  answer  and  abode, 
O  tender,  palpitating  heart  of  God ! 


CHAUNCEY    HAKE    rOWXSHEND.  315 

XIV. 

"  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions."    St.  John,  ziv.  2. 

Ye  orbs  that  tremble  through  infinity, 

And  are  ye,  then,  linked  only  with  our  eyes. 

Dissevered  from  our  thoughts,  our  smiles,  our  sighs, — 

Our  hopes  and  dreams  of  being,  yet  to  be  ? 

Oh,  if  ail  nature  be  a  harmony 

(As  sure  it  is),  why  in  those  solemn  skies 

Should  ye  our  vision  mock,  like  glittering  lies 

To  man  ail  unrelated?     Must  I  see 

Your  glories  only  as  a  tinselled  waste  1 

If  so,  I  half  despise  your  spectacle  ! 

But,  if  I  deem  that  ye  form  aeras  vast, 

And  do,  by  mighty  revolution,  tell 

Time  to  intelligent  existences  ; 

Awe-struck,  I  do  assist  at  your  solemnities  ! 

XV. 

"  All  things  serve  thee."     Fsalm  cxix.  91. 

Thee  all  things  serve.     Then  even  the  spirits  bad 
Which,  felt  or  feigned,  are  round  us.     They  too  serve 
Thy  high  behests,  and  work  on  brain  or  nerve. 
Only  as  Thou  decreest.     Tidings  how  glad 
To  those  whom  unseen  influences  make  mad 
With  ignorance  !     Whom  images  of  fear. 
And  terrors  whispered  into  childhood's  ear. 
Distract  with  gloom  that  Nature  ne'er  had  had 
Unspoiled  by  man      Oh,  blest  it  is  to  hear 


316      CHAUNCEY  harp:  townshend. 

That  there  is  purpose  in  our  every  pain  ; 
That  we  are  not  a  sport  and  mockery, 
Whereon  an  evil  host  their  skill  may  try 
For  base  experiment ;  but  children  dear 
Of  a  wise  God,  whose  very  frowns  are  gam. 

XVI. 

"  Who  is  he  that  condemneth  ?    It  is  Christ  that  died."    /iOtwotw,  viiL  34. 

Perchance  I  whisper  to  my  happy  soul, 

"  Thought  of  past  sin  should  burthens  on  thee  lay, 

And  send  thee  weeping  on  a  dreary  way, 

And  self-abased."   .  .  But  then,  beyond  control 

Of  such  mistrust,  new  pleasures  still  unroll 

Their  calm  sweet  glories  to  the  visual  ray 

Of  inward  faith  ;  and  heavenly  voices  say 

Unto  my  spirit,  "  Joy  is  the  great  pole 

Of  thy  existence.     Not  as  mortals  do 

The  Saviour  doth  :  He  raiseth  from  the  ground 

The  crushed  one,  and  restores  from  every  wound 

The  self-respect  of  man.     No  friend  untrue 

Is  He,  with  past  offence  to  make  thee  sad. 

Smiles  He?     Thou  canst  not  choose  but  to  be  glad." 

XVII. 

"  The  poor  shall  never  cease  out  of  the  land."    DeuteronoTny.  xv.  11. 

Had  all  a  joy  within,  what  outward  ill 
Could  touch  ?     This,  this  alone,  the  cure 
Of  all  the  pangs  that  mortals  must  endure  ; 


CHALTNCEY    HARE   TOWJ^SHEND.  317 

Not  in  the  dreams  of  bliss  impossible 

To  our  condition.     'Tis  the  evil  Will 

That  forms  an  inward  hideous  portraiture 

Of  God.     And  while  our  darkened  breasts  immure 

This  falsehood,  all  the  riches,  that  could  fill 

The  world  with  blessings  equal  as  the  day, 

Were  vain  to  clear  one  discontented  brow, 

Or  dignify  one  sorrow.     Give  away 

Thy  very  cloak  —  'tis  well  !  —  but  think  not  thou 

Aught  less  than  Christ  acknowledged  can  absorb 

The  wants,  the  tears,  of  this  distracted  orb. 


xvm. 

"  God  gave  Solomon  largeness  of  heart."    1  Kings.  Iv.  29. 

Largeness  of  heart !     Inestimable  gift ! 

Sure  all  that  trust  in  Christ  —  Creation's  Morn  — 

Must  unto  thee  expand  and  be  reborn, 

However  stinted  by  their  nature's  thrift. 

For  God's  great  Spirit  doth  exalt,  and  lift 

The  soul  out  of  itself ;  far  from  forlorn 

And  personal  narrowness,  and  all  weak  scorn 

Of  any  who  along  life's  current  drift. 

Thus  much  is  sure.  —  He,  who  conceived  the  thought, 

For  angels  —  men ^  ay,  even  worms  —  to  die, 

That  all  Creation  might  be  raised  and  brought 

Out  of  its  own  inherent  frailty. 

Dwells  not  in  bosoms  that  would  Heaven  repress 

Unto  their  own  exclusive  narrowness. 


318  CHAHNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

XIX. 

"  What  God  hath  cleansed,  that  call  not  thou  common."    Acte,  x.  15. 

Behold  men's  judgments  !     Common  and  uncleaii 
We  call  whatever  with  our  pride  doth  jar, 
Though  from  one  God  and  Father  all  things  are. 
Behold  men's  judgments  !     The  deep  truth  unseen, 
Rash  we  decide  w^hat  mere  externals  mean. 
Know' St  thou,  while  thy  proud  eye  is  closed  afar, 
In  what  mean  worm  God  may  illume  a  star  ? 
Know'st  thou  where  His  great  Spirit  dwells  serene  ? 
Thou  dost  not.     What  thy  pride  may  worthless  deem, 
Ay,  tainted  with  pollution,  may  become. 
Raised  from  the  dust,  the  fairest,  loveliest  home 
Where  radiant  Deity  can  shrine  its  beam  ; 
May  be  redeemed  from  Nature's  common  blot, 
Ay,  though  perhaps  thy  very  self  be  not! 

XX. 

"  His  hand  will  be  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand  against  him." 

GeneaiSj  xri.  12, 

Oh,  woe  for  those,  and  pity  more  than  woe, 
Who  in  the  gulf  of  men's  opinion  sink  !  — 
Every  man's  hand  against  them,  as  they  think. 
What  marvel  their  own  hand,  nor  slack  nor  slow, 
Should  against  every  man  remorseless  go  ? 
Oh,  could  one  snatch  them  from  the  dreary  brink 
Of  the  tiue  hell  —  to  feel  themselves  no  link 


CHAUNCEY    HAEE   TOWNSHEND.  319 

In  God's  great  scheme  —  that  were  a  joy  to  knoM\ 
Ye  who  can  find  no  shelter,  homeless  poor ! 
Ye  wicked,  who  were  never  taught  to  pray  ! 
Ay,  even  ye  who  from  the  better  way 
Turn  wilful  (therefore  to  be  pitied  more)  ! 
Sure  ye  are  men,  for  you  still  Christ  did  die, 
And  Hope  were  your  divinest  remedy  ! 


XXI. 

"  But  thou  saidst,  There  is  no  hope."    Jeremiah,  u.  2S. 

Without  a  hope  is  no  activity, 

No  motive  that  exalts  to  bettering, 

No  life.     There  is  no  other  breeze  to  fling 

One  ripple  over  Being's  stagnant  sea  ! 

If  life  be  precious,  then  should  hope  too  be! 

And  if  to  make  a  soul  with  conscious  wing 

Of  thought  and  will,  a  heart  where  love  may  cling 

Be  Heaven's  first  work,  then  Man's  first  villainy 

Must  be  to  murder  hope !     Yet  'tis  a  crime 

Acted  in  awful  silence  every  day 

When  we  from  sin  or  sorrow  turn  away, 

Or  tell  our  bosoms  'tis  no  longer  time 

For  penitence.     Yet  hear  this  truth,  o'erawed, 

To  say  there  is  no  hope,  expunges  God  ! 


320  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

xxn. 

•*  The  wrath  of  man  worketh  not  the  righteousness  of  God."    St.  James's  Epistle,  i.  20. 

Man,  though  thou  makest  this  world  dark  and  rude, 
By  blotting  out  sweet  hope,  life's  vital  part, 
Thou  canst  not  reach  the  river's  bounteous  heart, 
That  pulses  in  the  mountain  solitude  ! 
With  life,  hope,  love,  Heaven  is  not  less  imbued 
Because  thou  play'st  the  churl  with  niggard  art, 
Hiding  th'  Almighty!     He  to  view  will  start 
When  least  thou  deem'st  His  mercy  will  intrude. 
No  measure  art  thou  of  th'  Eternal  Mind  ! 
Yet  sad  it  is  we  should  let  any  die 
Despairing,  or  blaspheming  !  —  Oh,  be  kind 
As  Christ !     His  new  law  bars  that  any  lie 
Death-dvoomed.     Didst  thou  observe  His  generous  rule, 
Then  were  each  prison-house  a  noble  school  ' 

XXIII. 

"  And  he  taught  daily  in  the  temple."    St.  Lvke,  xix.  47. 

Though  the  free  circuit  of  the  silent  air 

Oft  saw  the  worship  of  the  Son  of  God, 

Some  rock  His  pulpit  ;  yet  His  steps,  too,  trod 

The  temple's  pavement.     Daily  His  repair 

Was  to  the  shrine  where  dwelt  God's  honour  fair  , 


CHAUXCEY    HARE   TOAYXSHEND.  321 

And  there  He  taught  ;  and,  from  that  dread  abode 

Driving  unhallowed  ihings  with  scourge  and  rod. 

Called  it  His  Father's  House  —  a  House  of  Prayer. 

Accept  both  lessons,  Man  !     God's  love  is  free, 

Is  universal  as  pervading  Heaven ; 

Yet  be  fair  temples  to  His  worship  given, 

The  best  our  hands  can  offer.  —  And  trust,  ye 

Who  turn  His  gifts  unto  the  Giver's  praise, 

His  smile  hath  prompted  and  will  bless  your  ways. 


XXIV. 

"  None  that  trust  in  him  shall  be  desolate."    Psalm  xxxiy.  22. 

Distrust  is  that  which  makes  the  curse  of  life. 
Oh,  if  we  trusted  God,  what  ills  were  spared  ! 
The  feeling  of  the  outcast  makes  us  hard, 
And  fierce  —  and  places  in  our  hand  the  knife  ! 
Did  man  trust  man,  what  desolating  strife 
Of  fiery  thought  we  back  from  us  should  ward  ! 
Sweet  Faith  would  be  our  fortress  and  our  guard 
From  every  anguish  with  which  souls  are  rife. 
And  so  the  Book  of  God  makes  all  sin  light 
Weighed  with  distrust  —  the  giant  ill  of  man  : 
Our  happiness  commanding  —  under  l>an 
Placing  whatever  dims  the  soul  with  blight ; 
It  whispers  still  unto  our  troubled  sense, 
Heaven  would'st  thou  know  ?    Heaven's  charm  is  con- 
fidence ! 


322  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 


XXV. 

•*  There  U  none  other  name  under  heaven  given  among  men,  whereby  we  most  be 
saved."    Acts,  iv.  12. 

Nature's  defect,  the  ground-work  of  our  woe, 
Shadowed  in  all  religions  grandly  forth, 
We  find  —  from  the  rude  Sagas  of  the  north. 
To  the  high  visions  bright  with  India's  glow. 
This,  then,  as  knowledge  which  ourselves  do  know 
Too  sadly  —  this  is  not  the  boon  to  earth 
Which  makes  the  Bible  so  divinely  worth, 
Or  Thou  didst  come,  O  Saviour,  to  bestow! 
'Tis  the  dear  love,  that,  pointing  the  disease, 
Doth  also  whisper  of  the  remedy  ; 
'Tis  the  high  gift  of  all  that  best  agrees 
With  our  soiled  nature  and  its  sovereign  cry, 
Forgiveness  —  restoration  —  means  to  rise 
Out  of  ourselves.  —  And  these  Christ's  Word  alone 
supplies. 

XXVI. 

"  The  Sabbath  was  made  for  man,  not  man  for  the  Sabbath."    St.  Mark,  U.  27. 

I  LOVE  thee.  Day  of  God  !     If  rather  not 
We  christen  thee,  with  Christ,  the  Day  of  Man ! 
And  thee  as  offspring  of  our  nature  scan. 
The  very  need  and  yearning  of  our  lot  — 
That,  once  in  seven  days,  our  toil  forgot, 


OHAUNCET    HARE   TOWNSHEXD.  323 

We  rest  ;  not  only  the  tired  artisan, 
But  all  who  keep  our  being's  healthful  plan, 
Lest  mind  or  body  overstrained  we  blot. 
When  shall  we  learn  that  God  for  His  own  sake 
Nothing  commands  ?  that  arbitrary  powers 
Dwell  not  in  Him  ?  that  all  the  gain  is  ours 
When  He  an  ordinance  for  man  doth  make : 
Chief  when  He  tells  us  that,  one  day  in  seven, 
We  need  a  foretaste  of  our  rest  in  Heaven  ? 


XXVII. 

"  stand  fast  in  the  liberty  wherewith  Christ  has  made  us  free."    Galatiamtt  T.  ]. 

Are  we  beneath  the  Law  of  Liberty, 

Or  old  Judean  bondage  1     Has  the  Son 

Of  God  in  vain  for  us  the  chains  undone 

That  bound  us  to  our  nature's  slavery? 

To  pant  and  strive,  yet  never  once  be  free ; 

To  labor,  as  in  dreams,  at  deeds  begun 

But  never  ended  ;  all  that  fancy  won 

To  see  dissolved  in  airy  vacancy  — 

Is  this  to  last  for  ever  ?     Shame,  oh  shame  ! 

So  much  of  beauty  that  we  will  not  seize 

Upbraids  us.     When,  as  now,  our  thwarted  aim 

Turns  back  God's  remedies  to  our  disease 

Agam  —  when  broken  is  the  loveliest  charm 

Of  all  our  toiling  days  —  when  Sabbaths  harm  ! 


324  CHAUNCET    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 


XXVIII. 


'  Which  Of  yon  shall  have  an  ass,  or  an  ox,  fallen  into  a  pit,  and  will  not  rtimightirBy 
pull  him  out  on  the  Sabbath  day  ?  "    St.  Luke,  xiv.  5. 


Wisdom  profound  !     But  do  we  know  it  yet ! 

Alas,  beneath  our  dread  of  Sabbath-works 

Of  love  and  need,  a  dread  deception  lurks, 

And  makes  a  mischief  of  a  benefit ! 

What  would  Christ  say,  if  now  His  feet  were  set 

Again  on  earth  ?     He,  who  from  mercy's  debt, 

Ev'n  to  an  ox  or  ass,  absolved  not  man 

By  Sabbath-law '?     How  would  He  clear  His  plan 

Unto  our  eyes  1  now,  when  our  hearts  forget 

All  that  we  owe  our  fellow-beings  —  Love, 

And  care  for  all  ;  —  Love,  that  all  care  bestows 

That  none  shall  suffer  by  a  day's  repose. 

And  setteth  human  welfare  far  above 

The  pre-conceived  notions  we  can  bring 

To  force  God's  Book  to  our  interpreting. 


XXIX. 

'It  pleased  the  Father  by  him  to  reconcile  all  things  unto  himself,  whether  things  oa 
earth  or  things  in  heaven."     Colossians,  i.  10,  20. 


Where  spreads  not  Thy  dominion,  Saviour  dear? 
Where  is  not  Thy  salvation's  glory  thrown  ? 
In  heaven  Thou  wert  —  to  earth  Thou  earnest  down  — 
Hell  was  dissolved  before  Thee.     The  vast  tear 


CHAI7.N-GEY    HARE   TOWXSHEND.  325 

Of  all  creation  Thou  away  didst  clear, 
And  turn  to  music  the  tremendous  groan 
And  travail  of  the  birth  that's  laid  upon 
Whatever  is  not  God  !  .  .  Thrilled  out  of  fear, 
The  air  by  Thee  was  touched  with  rapture's  glow  I 
At  the  brightness  of  Thy  presence  Earth  did  move 
Pier  burthens  to  cast  off —  and  put  on  love  ! 
The  sea  saw  that,  and  fled  from  her  deep  woe. 
Heaven  laughed,  and  glittered,  as  if  fresh  with  morn  ; 
God  gave  a  glorious  smile  —  and  Hope  was  born ! 


XXX. 

••  Grieve  not  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God."    Eiihesians,  iv.  30. 

Earth's  giants,  to  be  strong,  must  touch  the  Earth, — 
Heaven's  children  must  grasp  Heaven  !     Forfeit  not 
The  high  prerogative  of  thy  great  lot, 
Thou    soul,    that    once    hast    ta'en    from    Christ   thy 

birth  1 
Sensual  delights  not  only  will  make  dearth 
Within  thee  ;  but  thy  tender  God  forgot 
Will  grieve,  because  thou  form'st  a  thoughtless  plot 
To  mar  creation's  end  —  thy  joy  and  mirth. 
Oh,  say,  what  threatening  of  a  wrath  to  come 
Can  move  thee  like  thy  own  upbraiding  heart 
Whispering —  thou  hast  returned  upon  thy  doom 
To  pierce  thy  Saviour  with  a  newer  dart. 
Ingratitude !  that  word  Heaven's  self  might  dim  ! 
God  means  thee  well  —  wilt  thou  mean  ill  to  Him  I 


326         CHAUNCEY  HAKE  TOWNSHEND. 
XXXI. 

"  Marvel  not  that  I  said.  Ye  must  be  born  again."    St.  John,  uL  7, 

Born  out  of  God,  with  pain  and  bitter  tears, 

Back  unto  God  we  must  be  born  agaia, 

Also  with  struggle  and  reluctant  pain  ! 

Our  mortal  days  are  types  of  greater  years  ; 

And  all  that  to  our  body's  eye  appears 

In  this  great  universe  of  loss  and  gain 

Shadows  our  inner  life,  and  is  a  chain 

That  ever  linketh  us  by  hopes  and  fears  — 

By  Terror  and  by  Trust  —  by  Life  and  Death  — 

With  grandeur.     All  this  world  is  but  a  womb 

Unto  another.     As  we  draw  our  breath, 

We  weep  as  infants  do  when  first  they  come 

Into  this  orb.     So  strive  we  in  our  thirst 

To  drink  Heaven's  air,  which  pains  us  at  the  first 

XXXII. 

His  banner  over  me  was  love."    Cant.  ii.  4. 

He  who  loves  best  knows  most.     Then  why  should  I 

Let  my  tired  thoughts  so  far,  so  restless  run, 

In  quest  of  knowledge  underneath  the  sun, 

Or  round  about  the  wide-encircling  sky  ! 

Nor  earth  nor  heaven  is  read  by  scrutiny ! 

But  touch  me  with  a  Saviour's  love  divine, 

I  pierce  at  once  to  wisdom's  inner  shrine, 


CHATJl^CEY   HAEE   TOWNSHEND.  327 

And  my  soul  seeth  all  things  like  an  eye. 
Then  have  I  treasures,  which  to  fence  and  heed 
Makes  weakness  bold  and  folly  wisdom-strung, 
As  doves  are  valorous  to  guard  their  young, 
And  larks  are  wary  from  their  nests  to  lead. 
Is  there  a  riddle,  and  resolved  you  need  it? 
Love  —  only  love  —  and  you  are  sure  to  read  it ' 


XXXIII. 

"  Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear."    1  JoTin,  iv.  18. 

Seest  thou  with  dread  creation's  mystery  ? 
Dost  thou  life's  drear  enigma  beat  in  vain  ? 
Hast  thou  a  cloud  upon  thy  heart  and  brain  ? 
Love  —  only  love  —  and  all  resolved  shall  be ' 
Art  thou  a  fool  in  this  world's  subtlety  ? 
Must  thou  thy  fond  belief  still  rue  with  pain 
In  all  thy  fancy  deemed  was  joy  and  gain  ? 
Love  —  only  love  —  and  wisdom  comes  to  thee? 
But,  mind,  thy  love  must  be  a  heavenly  fire : 
For  flames,  from  any  earthly  shrine  ascending, 
Kindled  in  vanity,  in  woe  expire. 
And  leave  experience  o'er  but  ashes  bending. 
Then,  too,  the  fear  of  God's  avenging  rod 
Can  only  be  escaped  by  loving  God  1 


328  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

XXXIV. 

"  I  will  purely  purge  away  thy  dross."    baiah,  i.  21 

Our  sins  from  fire  a  dreadful  emblem  make 

Of  punishment,  and  woes  that  never  tire :  — 

And  yet  how  friendly  —  beautiful  is  fire  ! 

Truth,  dressed  in  fable,  tells  us  it  did  wake 

Man  from  brute  sleep.  Heaven's  bounty  to  partake. 

And  arts,  and  love,  and  rapture  of  the  lyre. 

The  cottage  hearth,  the  taper's  friendly  spire. 

Have  images  to  soften  hearts  that  ache. 

Virtuous  is  fire.     The  stars  give  thoughts  of  love, 

And  the  sun  chaseth  ill  desires  away. 

Fire  cleanses  too  ;  by  it  we  gold  do  prove, 

And  precious  silver  hath  its  bright  assay. 

Why  then  not  deem  the  Bible's  fires  mean  this  — 

Evil  all  melted,  to  make  way  for  bliss  ? 


XXXV. 

"  WJiat  is  truth  ?  "    St.  John,  xriii.  38. 

On,  how  we  pine  for  truth  !  for  something  more 
Than  husks  of  learning!     How  did  ancient  Greece 
Hang  on  the  virtuous  lips  of  Socrates, 
Turning  from  words  more  sounding  to  adore 
The  wisdom  that  sent  souls  to  their  own  store 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOAYXSHEND.  329 

For  knowledge.     So  let  us  our  hearts  release  ! 

'Tis  time  the  jargon  of  the  schools  should  cease -^ 

Errors  that  rot  Theology's  deep  core, 

Lying  at  the  base  of  things.     Down,  down  must  fall 

The  glittering  edifice,  cemented  much 

With  blood,  yet  baseless.     At  Truth's  simple  touch 

All  the  vain  fabric  will  be  shattered  —  all  ! 

But  not  the  Bible  !     Nature  there  is  stored, 

And  God  !     Eternal  is  the  Saviour's  Word  ! 


XXXVI. 

"  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  "    St.  John,  vi.  G8. 

To  whom,  or  whither,  should  we  go  from  Thee, 

0  Christ?     Beyond  ourselves,  beyond  all  law 
Of  hope,  and  being  ;  beyond  love  and  awe  ; 
Beyond  creation  —  to  some  shoreless  sea,  — 
To  one  huge  blot  of  dreary  vacancy  ? 

1  look  around,  above,  below  ;  I  draw 

On  stores  that  sensual  vision  never  saw  — 
I  ransack  piles  of  old  philosophy  ! 
Nothing  I  find,  except  the  self-same  thing, 
One  deep  expression  of  tremendous  want, 
Nothing  that  even  pretends  to  seal  the  grant 
That  to  the  heart's  great  void  shall  fulness  bring  ! 
Then,  Saviour,  I  sink  back  before  Thy  knee, 
And  all  things  find  in  Thee,  and  only  Thee  1 


330  CHAUNCEY   HARE    TOWNSHEND. 


XXXVII. 


**  All  3i5a  tisaggressions  that  he  hath  committed,  they  shall  not  be  mentioned  onto 

him."    Ezekiel,  xviii.  22. 


O  WATERS  of  Oblivion,  Fable  fair 
When  back  across  the  Past  with  throbbing  brain 
In  thought  we  journey,  thou  dost  mock  our  pain, 
Like  the  false  fountains  on  a  desert's  glare  ! 
Our  fancy  grasps  thee,  though  thou  be  but  air, 
And  bitter  the  heart's  cry,  "  In  vain !  in  vain !  " 
Oh  then,  if  Heaven  should  whisper,  "  Seek  again ! 
And  thou  may'st  yet  to  real  brooks  repair  ; 
Stretch  thy  faint  limbs,  and  wander  or  repose 
By  the  green  pasture  and  the  cooling  stream. 
Dissolving  quite  the  memory  of  thy  woes 
In  present  ecstasy."     The  hope  and  dream 
Of  such  delight  might  make  the  desert  bloom  ! 
What  then,  if  it  be  true,  this  side  the  tomb  ? 


XXXVIII. 

*■  The  sting  of  death  is  sin."    1  Corinthians,  xv.  56. 

"  Oh,  Death  will  be  so  beautiful  !  "  one  said 
To  me  ;  a  child  he  was  by  sickness  worn  ;  — 
I  looked  at  him.     His  face  was  like  the  morn 
When  from  its  beauty  the  dull  vapors  glide  ! 
The  dusky  curtains  that  the  next  world  hide 
Seemed  for  a  moment's  space  asunder  torn ! 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOWJ^SHEND.  33 1 

"  My  Saviour  loves  me !  "     Yet  again  he  sighed, 
And  upward  gazed  with  eye  beatified ;  — 
That  look  with  him  unto  the  grave  was  borne  ! 
Oh,  could  we  smile  into  the  next  world  too  ! 
Why  not  ?     O  bounteous  Nature,  bounteous  Grace^ 
If  Death  be  dread,  'tis  we  who  make  it  so, 
Straying  alike  from  God  and  Nature's  face. 
Two  lovely  roads  lead  to  our  common  rest  — 
Forgiveness,  Innocence  —  and  both  are  best  • 


XXXIX. 


"  Whosoever  shall  not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child  shall  in  no  1 
enter  therein."    St.  Luke,  xviii.  17. 


The  sting^of  death  doth  neither  fright  the  worm 

That  spins  itself  in  peace  a  silken  tomb, 

Nor  the  forgiven  child.     Death  is  life's  womb. 

O'er  life,  o'er  death,  alike  we  spread  the  storm, 

By  straying  from  our  being's  simple  form. 

Bright  are  our  natural  faculties  in  bloom 

Of  childhood  ;  free  from  terror  and  from  gloom 

Is  our  life's  year  when  in  its  tender  germ. 

The  little  child  hath  never  doubt  of  God  ! 

Ay,  even  the  ploughman  is  more  near  to  Heaven 

Who  feels  our  nature's  want  to  be  forgiven 

(As  childlike  more)  than  he  who  with  a  load 

Of  sin  and  learning,  Pride's  rebellious  son. 

Hating  old  age  and  death,  unto  the  grave  toils  on ! 


332  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

XL. 

"  In  returning  and  rest  shall  ye  be  saved."    Isaiah,  xxx.  LJ. 

Yes  !     There  are  hearts  that,  when  I  am  no  more, 
Will  love  my  verse  !     It  to  their  hearts  will  creep 
Like  music  they  have  longed  for,  still  and  deep, 
Loosing  those  chains  that  brain  and  bosom  o'er 
Are  wove  by  Terrors  haunting  death's  dread  shore, 
And  Doubts  that  ask  why  here  we  toil  and  weep. 
Scarce  knowing  why  we  came  into  this  sleep 
Called  Life.     A  spirit  from  my  strain  will  pour, 
Whispering,  that  God  is  good  and  Nature  kind. 
And  that  our  struggles  make  our  agony  : 
And  that  to  rest  beneath  the  steadfast  eye 
Of  God,  and  sit  in  holy  stillness  shrined, 
Turns  all  things  into  calm  reality, 
And  taketh  all  the  burthen  from  the  mind. 

XLI. 

"  The  law  is  holy,  and  the  commandment  holy  and  just  and  good."    Eortums,  vii.  12. 

What  are  the  laws  of  God  ?     Our  being  they. 

The  true  expression  of  our  health  and  joy. 

No  arbitrary  phrases  they  employ  ; 

No  prohibitions  fertile  to  betray. 

'Tis  true  that,  if  transgressed,  they  bring  alway 

A  penalty  ;  but  pleasure's  broken  toy 

Yields  wisdom  wrought  from  sorrow  and  annoy, 

Warning  us  back  to  nature's  happy  way  ; 

And  pain  is  not  so  much  a  punishment, 


CHAUXCEY    HARE   TOWXSHEXD.  3B:J 

As  a  great  lesson  we  must  learn  or  die ! 
Thou  hast  no  tortures  in  thy  treasury, 
O  God,  but  medicines  kind  and  prevalent 
To  soothe  or  heal,  when  we  ungenerous 
Have  sinned  against  ourselves  and  Thee  in  us. 

XLII. 

"  No'w  is  the  accepted  time."    2  Corinthians,  vi.  2. 

Press  on  our  foreheads  Thy  salvation-seal 
Now,  now,  O  dear  Redeemer  of  the  world ! 
Lest,  when  Thy  glorious  standard  be  unfurled, 
In  Thy  great  day,  we  should  but  anguish  feel 
And  shame  ;  lest  light  should  all  our  sins  reveal 
To  all  creation  ;  and,  by  anguish  whirled. 
We  from  Thy  glorious  presence  should  be  hurled 
To  lower  grades  of  being  !     With  glad  zeal, 
Oh,  let  us  now  ourselves  by  Thee  restore  ; 
Accept  Thy  covenant  and  Thy  marriage  dress, 
Lest  deep  ingratitude  should  sink  us  more 
Even  than  our  sins,  to  sorrows  measureless ! 
Which  shall  we  do  —  be  human  or  divine? 
Stand  by  our  merits,  or  accept  of  Thine? 

XLni. 

« It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be."    First  Epistle  of  St.  John,  liL  % 

We  cannot  know,  indeed,  how  much  were  lost 
By  present  negligence  ;  but  this  we  know, 
That  in  our  exit  from  this  world  of  woe. 


L)4  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSIIEND. 

It  is  the  next  step  that  concerns  us  most ! 
The  dream  of  torture  and  the  wailing  ghost 
Are  nothing  ;  but  to  fall  ourselves  below, 
To  be  more  exiled  from  our  God  than  now, 
Were  horrible  !     Oh,  what  a  fearful  coast 
It  were  to  land  on,  peopled  by  dark  souls  ; 
Many,  yet  lonely,  —  by  communion  worse, — 
Stranded  upon  creation's  outcast  shoals. 
The  dregs  and  refuse  of  the  universe ! 
Whose  pain  were  to  behold,  both  near  and  far, 
God  as  he  is,  ourselves  too  as  we  are ! 

XLIV. 

"  With  destruction  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord."    2  ThessdUmiama,  \.  9. 

Say,  dost  thou  know  what  one  sad  moment  were, 

That  were  of  God  deprived  utterly  ? 

Hast  thou  been  sick  in  spirit,  bound,  yet  free, 

To  let  thy  fancies  riot  in  despair  ? 

Hast  thou  so  breathed  an  unsubstantial  air, 

As,  like  a  ghastly  dream,  the  world  to  see, 

To  lose  the  sense  of  great  reality  ; 

Unto  the  land  of  madness  to  repair, 

Keeping  thy  consciousness  1     Then  hence  divine. 

What  were  whole  cycles  of  such  banishment ; 

And  think  each  moment  worse  than  idly  spent, 

That  does  not  draw  thee  nearer  to  the  shrine 

Whence  only  pleasure  flows,  where  dwelleth  He 

Who  only  makes  Life,  Love,  Reality  ! 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOWNSHEXD.  335 

XLV. 

"  Thy  mercy  is  greater  than  the  heavens."    Psalm  cyUL  4 

0  GREATER  than  the  heavens  Thy  mercy  is, 
God,  for  it  doth  include  the  universe  ! 
There  is  with  Thee  no  anger  and  no  curse  ! 
Nor  was  —  even  then  when  man  first  did  amiss  ! 
Even  then  Thy  love  and  truth  did  meet  and  kiss. 
Thy  boundless  love  no  boon  imperfect  gave, 
Nor  did  create  till  it  decreed  to  save, 
And  wrap  existence  in  eternal  bliss  ! 
But  we,  who  take  a  portion  for  the  whole 
Of  Thy  great  plan  ;  who,  in  our  narrow  range, 
Scarce  our  conceptions  bring  to  the  next  change 
Of  being ;  how  shall  we  Thy  scheme  unroll, 
Which  goes  through  cycles,  working  endlessly 
Back  from  sin's  dreary  nothing  unto  Thee  ! 

XLVI. 

"  All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God."    Romans,  viU.  3BL 

Oh,  what  a  load  of  struggle  and  distress 

Falls  off  before  the  Cross  !     The  feverish  care  ; 

The  wish  that  we  were  other  than  we  are ; 

The  sick  regrets  ;  the  yearnings  numberless  ; 

The  thought,  "  this  might  have  been,"  so  apt  to  press 

On  the  reluctant  soul  ;  even  past  despair. 

Past  sin  itself,  —  all  —  all  is  turned  to  fair 

Ay,  to  a  scheme  of  ordered  happiness. 

So  soon  as  we  love  God,  or  rather  know 


336  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

That  God  loves  us  !  .   .  Accepting  the  great  pledge 
Of  His  concern  for  all  our  wants  and  woe, 
We  cease  to  tremble  upon  danger's  edge  ; 
While  varying  troubles  form  and  burst  anew, 
Safe  in  a  Father's  arms,  we  smile  as  infants  do  ! 

XLVII. 

*  Nevertheless,  though  1  am  sometime  afraid,  yet  put  I  my  trust  in  thee."    Psalm  M.  8. 

Forsake  me  not !     Oh,  if  Thou  could' st  indeed. 

For  me  were  blotted  out  earth,  sea,  and  sky  ! 

Give  me  Thy^.Mf,  what  canst  Thou  then  deny  1 

Thyself,  if  Thou  deny  me,  all  is  need  ! 

Without  Thee,  I  am  but  a  worthless  weed 

Fit  to  be  thrown  away.     But  Thou  be  nigh. 

And  flowers,  and  fruit,  and  festal  luxury. 

Unto  my  drooping  and  my  dearth,  succeed. 

My  God,  forgive  these  seeming  doubts  of  Thee ! 

I  play  with  language,  but  I  feel  no  fears  ! 

To  me  Thy  faithfulness  so  true  appears. 

My  very  sins  have  no  alarm  for  me. 

Not  like  the  world,  disheriting  its  child, 

Dost  Thou  prove  fickle,  where  Thou  once  hast  smiled. 

XLVIII. 

"Jesus  Christ  the  same  yesterday,  and  to-day,  and  for  ever."    Hehrewa,  xiii.  8L 

I  KNOW  that  Thou  wilt  love  me  without  end, 
Saviour  ;  that  nought  Thy  fixdd  Truth  can  shake  ; 
That  Thou  my  woes  wilt  soften  and  partake, 


CHATJNCEY    HARE    TOWNRHEXD.  337 

Though  every  love  were  far  and  every  friend ; 
That  Thou  through  every  danger  wilt  defend, 
And  of  my  heart  a  fenced  garden  make, 
Where  evil  scarce  may  enter,  for  Thy  sake. 
So  on  Thy  changeless  Word  do  I  depend, 
As  on  a  mother  the  most  trusting  child  ;  — 
And  thus  in  Thee  my  being  I  ensphere, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  earthly  tempests  wild. 
I  only  rest,  while  round  me  all  doth  move, 
And  pillow  all  my  heart  upon  Thy  love. 

XLIX. 

"  A  law  unto  themselves."    Romans,  ii.  14. 

Oh,  who  can  doubt  with  man  Thy  Spirit  strove, 
Out  of  the  pale  even  of  Thy  chosen  race  ; 
Wherever  struggling  from  the  vile  and  base 
There  shone  a  spark  of  beauty  and  bright  love  ? 
But  most  where  thirst  of  knowledge  deep  did  move  — 
Knowledge  of  what  we  are,  whither  we  pace 
Along  life's  darkling  road  —  how  best  to  brace 
Our  nature  to  a  height  itself  above  ! 
And  so,  by  souls  half-touched  with  prophet-fire 
(Not  wholly  —  to  make  known  what  faults  remain 
Where  Thou  didst  not  bestow  Thyself  entire — ), 
The  path  for  Thy  great  Advent  was  made  plain  ; 
And  mortals,  who  on  Plato's  words  had  hung, 
Were  thus  prepared  to  hear  a  wiser  tongue. 


338        CHAUNCET  HARE  TOWNSHEND. 

L. 

"  Christ  hath  redeemed  us  from  the  curse  of  the  law."    Gaiaiiaas,  iiL  VL 

How  slavish  is  the  fear  that  ties  the  tongue, 

When  we  would  sing  of  free-redeeming  grace, 

Lest  men  should  deem  we  leave  the  law  no  place, 

And  should  be  reckoned  libertines  among ! 

Yes  !     Libertines  are  we  !     The  weight  that  hung 

Upon  our  souls,  a  bondage  dull  and  base, 

Now  leaves  no  blush  upon  our  cleared  face. 

What  matters  us  men's  judgments?     We  have  flung 

Away  all  thought  but  this  —  that  sin  we  hate 

Because  it  bars  us  from  our  only  joy  — 

From  Thee,  dear  Lord  !    What  Thou  cam'st  to  destroy 

That  we  rebuild  not ;  whether  the  dull  state 

Of  old  tyrannic  law,  or  tyrant  sin  : 

We  cast  all  from  us,  only  Thee  to  win. 

LI. 

"  In  thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy."    Psalm  xvi.  U. 

Each  day,  O  Lord,  in  this  poor  mode  of  mine, 
I  strive  to  paint  Thee  better  to  my  heart, 
That  it  may  love  Thee  more.     What  if  I  start 
Sometimes  at  shadows  that  obscure  Thy  shrine. 
Dim  earthly  vapours  breathed  o'er  light  divine, 
Wrought  into  spectral  shapes  by  Fear's  bad  art, 
Even  to  the  acting  of  so  dread  a  part 
As  that  of  Hindoo  deities  which  twine 
Into  one  form  of  horror.  .  .  Yet  not  long 


CHAUlSrCET    HAEE    TO^Yl^SHEND.  339 

I  mar  Thy  goodness  by  a  dream  like  this. 

I  see  Thee  in  all  beauty,  in  all  bliss  ; 

In  light,  and  loveliness,  and  poet's  song. 

Thus  much  at  least  I  know :  from  out  Thy  store 

Of  joy,  the  more  I  take,  I  find  the  more. 

LII. 

"  "Weep  not."    St.  Lvke,  xxiii.  28. 

Weep  not !     Oh,  earth  is  nothing  worth  a  tear. 
Weep  not !     Thy  sorrow  far  too  precious  is 
To  be  poured  out  on  worldly  vanities ! 
If  Disappointment  frown  on  thee  severe. 
Weep  not !     Be  sure  a  heavenly  good  is  near, 
And  thy  wish  gained  had  teemed  with  miseries. 
Hast  thou  been  martyred  by  the  agonies 
Of  a  heart  broken  o'er  a  loved  one's  bier  1 
Weep  not !     Oh,  less  than  ever  weep  thou  then, 
Deeming  thy  treasure  gone  beyond  earth's  woe. 
Weep  not !  for  God  doth  love  thee  !  —  Only  when 
Him  thou  hast  grieved,  allow  thy  grief  to  flow  ; 
Like  some  fond  cruse  of  tears  a  tomb  within, 
Bury  thy  shrined  sorrow  with  thy  sin. 

LIII. 

•  If  ye  shall  say  unto  this  mountain,  Be  thou  removed  and  be  thou  cast  into  the  f«^ 
it  shall  be  done."    St.  Matthew,  xxi.  21. 

Mountains  of  sin  from  off  my  panting  breast 
Were  at  Thy  word  removed.     There  came  a  faith, 
Into  my  soul,  more  strong  than  woe  or  death ; 


340  CHAUNCET    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

Yet  lay  I  weaker  than  an  infant's  rest 
Beneath  thine  eye.     The  agony,  that  prest 
Erewhile  my  brain,  I  felt  had  been  the  breath 
That  even  in  its  torture  quickeneth, 
And  of  my  sorrow  I  had  gained  the  west 
To  rise  on  other  worlds.  .  .  Oh  miracle  ! 
What  were  Olympus,  crumbled  in  the  sea, 
Unto  the  heaps  of  anguish  moved  from  me ; 
And  in  Thy  love,  O  Lord,  made  soluble  ?  — 
Thy  love,  an  ocean,  whose  abyss  profound 
The  plummet-line  of  thought  did  never  sound. 

LIV. 

"  If  thou  have  borne  him  hence,  tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  him."    St.  John,  xx.  1 

What  marvel  if  the  whole  wide  world  about 

(No  longer  wide  to  me,  but  narrow  made 

As  if  'twere  all  one  tomb)  I  mourning  strayed, 

Seeking  my  only  Good,  wrongly  devout  ? 

So  many  mists,  by  mortal  creeds  breathed  out, 

Made  twilight  everywhere  and  dreary  shade, 

I  could  not  tell  where  men  my  Christ  had  laid. 

So,  though  He  stood  beside  me,  my  rash  doubt 

Buried  His  nearness  in  a  dim  eclipse  ; 

And,  like  to  Mary  when  her  trembling  lips 

Even  to  Himself  did  the  inquiry  frame, 

*'  Where  lies  He  now? "  —  so  did  I  syllable 

Vain   words.     But    when    lie    gently   breathed   my 

name 
I  knew  His  voice,  and  at  His  feet  I  fell. 


CHAUNCEY    HAEE   TOWNSHEND.  341 

LV. 

"  Not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you."    St.  John,  xiv.  27. 

Not  as  the  world  gives,  givest  Thou,  indeed, 

Blest  Lord  of  peace  !     Pleasures  that  end  in  sighs  — 

Tears  of  dull  sorrow  —  bitter  agonies  — 

A  hollow  love  that  fails  us  in  our  need  — 

Wrong    judgments  —  mockery    when    our     bosoms 

bleed  — 
These  are  the  presents  which  the  world  supplies 
Out  of  its  poison-caves,  and  treasuries : 
Unto  our  vassalage  and  slavish  heed. 

0  Lord  of  love  and  life,  and  inner  joy, 
Thy  gifts  are  different,  sure  —  a  gentle  ray 
That  makes  the  heart  more  lightsome  every  day, 
A  faithfulness  no  wrongs  of  ours  destroy, — 

A  thousand  pleasures,  innocent  and  coy, 
Forgiveness  when  we  err,  and  guidance  when  we  stray. 

LVI. 

•  Where  the  spirit  of  tlie  Lord  is  —  there  is  liberty."    2  Corintfdans,  iii.  17. 

1  HEARD  a  child,  on  a  fair  summer  day, 

Its  mother  ask  —  "  Who  made  these  flowers  —  this 

sod?" 
The  mother  answered  gently  —  "  The  good  God 
Who  gave  His  Son  that  you  might  freely  play, 
And  happy  be."     Then  joyfully  did  stray 
The  child  ;  and  Pleasure  followed  where  he  trod. 
Nature  was  glad.     Obeying  zephyr's  nod 


343  CHAUNCEY    HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

The  green  leaves  twinkled  ;  and  the  brooklet  gay 
Danced  to  the  sound  of  its  own  melody. 
Light  clouds  roved  free  o'er  Heaven's  fields  of  blue ; 
The  sweet  birds  sang  as  if  their  song  was  new. 
And    leaves,    and    brooks,  and    clouds,    and   birds 

for  me 
Said  but  these  happy  words  —  "  Be  free,  be  free, 
Christ  has  given  all  things  joy  and  liberty ! " 

LVII. 

"  Eyes  to  the  blind."    Jdh,  xxix.  15. 

On,  joy  it  is  when  we  our  mission  find, 

Even  if  it  be  to  wipe  the  humblest  tear, 

Or  still  the  very  faintest  human  fear. 

But  something  it  must  be  for  human  kind  ! 

How  else  appease  the  thirst  of  soul  and  mind  — 

Remorse  —  which  most  doth  wait  on  wasted  powers 

The  rankling  nothingness  of  trifled  hours 

And  thwarted   aims  ?     Feel'st   thou   that   thou    art 

blind  ? 
Go  unto  Nature.     Beauty,  Joy,  and  Use, 
Are  severed  but  in  man's  philosophy. 
The  rose  does  more  than  feed  the  honey  bee  ; 
Nothing  dies  in  itself.     Only  unloose 
In  Christ  —  Creation's  eye  —  thy  filmy  sight. 
And  thou  on  earth  shalt  choose  thy  place  aright. 


CHAUlSrCEY    HARE   TOTV^NSHEND.  343 

LVIII. 
"I  will  glory  of  the  things  which  concern  mine  infirmities."    2  (Jorinthians,  xL  901 

He,  who  did  boast  his  own  infirmities 

As  his  best  right,  in  this  my  rule  shall  be ; 

Lord,  in  Thy  sight,  I  have  no  other  plea 

Save  that  I  want  Thy  precious  sacrifice ! 

Behold  me  1   dust  and  ashes  in  Thine  eyes  ; 

Yet  has  the  blood  of  Christ  been  shed  for  me, 

Therefore  I  needs  must  have  a  dignity  ; 

Nor  dare  I  even  my  wretched  self  despise 

For  whom  Thou  didst  Thy  Father's  bosom  leave, 

To  live  and  die  in  sorrow.     Let  me,  then, 

The  more  my  depths  lie  open  to  my  ken. 

Rise  but  the  more  in  Thee !     When  most  I  grieve, 

Most  let  me  triumph  in  a  joy  divine, 

Felt  to  be  dearest  because  wholly  Thine. 

LIX. 

"  At  thy  right  hand  are  pleasures  tor  evermore."    Psalm  xvL  11, 

Without  the  smile  of  God  upon  the  soul 

We  see  not,  and  the  world  has  lost  its  light ; 

For  us  there  is  no  quiet  in  the  night, 

No  beauty  in  the  stars.     The  saffron  stole 

Of  morning,  or  the  pomp  of  evening's  goal 

That  celebrates  Day's  marriage  with  the  Sea  ; 

Blue  distance  —  silver  lake  —  hill,  glen,  and  tree, 

Are  sealed  unto  the  spirit  like  a  scroll 

Writ  in  a  perished  language.     But  a  ray 


344        CHAUNCEY  HARE  TOWNSHEND. 

Upon  this  darkness  suddenly  may  dart, 

And  Christ's  dear  love  be  poured  into  the  heart 

To  clothe  Creation  in  a  robe  of  day. 

Then  doth  the  morning  cheer,  the  night  hath  calm, 

And  skies  a  glory,  and  the  dews  a  balm. 

LX. 

" Fire  and  hail,  snoir  and  vapours  —  storniy  wind  fulfilling  his  word."    Psalm  cxIviiL& 

There  are  who  deem  the  earthquake  and  the  storm 
Fulfilments  of  that  dread  mysterious  curse. 
Which  God  inflicted  on  the  universe 
When  man  from  angel  drooped  into  a  worm  : 
But,  come  with  me,  and  view  sweet  Nature's  form 
After  the  tempest,  which  was  loud  and  fierce 
The  livelong  night.     Now,  all  things  do  rehearse 
The  praises  of  that  strife  which  was  the  germ 
Of  future  peace.     Bright  is  the  boundless  air. 
Earth  joyous  with  her  dewy  coronal  : 
And  hark !  a  festive  voice  is  everywhere 
Murmuring  in  Faith's  glad  ear,  "  God  blesses  all, 
Even  His  judgments.     Cheer  thee,  drooping  soul ; 
Doubt  not  all  sorrow  hath  a  happy  goal." 

LXI. 

"  He  taught  them  as  one  having  authority."    St.  Matthew,  vii.  29. 

The  written  Word  is  needful  !     What  were  man 

Without  authority  ?     Little,  I  wist. 

More  than  a  coil  of  sand  that  billows  twist, 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOWXSHEND.  345 

Leaving  brief  chronicle  where  last  they  ran. 

Authority  is  of  Life's  darkling  span 

The  need.  .  .  By  more  than  eloquence  enticed, 

Plato  had  hung  upon  the  words  of  Christ ; 

Plato,  who  laid  himself  beneath  the  ban 

Of  human  ignorance,  nor  taught  as  one 

Having  authority.     Even  Mahomet 

Nations  with  Holy  Books  o'er  others  set 

Who  had  from  heaven  no  written  record  won.* 

And  this  was  wisdom  :  for,  to  man  the  worm, 

Truth's  essence  breathes  away  without  Truth's  form. 

LXII. 

"  As  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil."    Genesis,  iii.  6. 

Evil  !  thou  art  a  necessary  good  — 

Fountain  of  Individualities, 

Great  tenure,  thou,  of  all  existences 

That  are  not  God.  .  .  If  rightly  understood, 

Thou  art  the  lesson-book,  and  holy  rood 

Whereby,  ascending  up  sublime  degrees, 

We  know,  and  reconcile,  and  difference  seize. 

And  change  our  earthly  for  a  heavenly  mood. 

Ah,  who  can  grieve  that  man  has  plucked  the  fruit 

Of  knowledge?  .  .  Scarcely  name  we  Innocence 

The  Virtue  that  is  not  Experience. 

No  !     We  our  souls  divinely  must  transmute 

Out  of  the  God-led  instincts  of  the  brute, 

Into  the  loftier  ways  of  Providence  ! 

♦  See  Layard's  Ninevek. 


346  CHAUNCET   HARE    TOWNSHEND. 

LXIII. 

The  seraphs  veil  their  faces  with  their  wings 

Before  Thy  throne,  O  God  !     Then  how  should  I, 

Who  tremble  in  a  frail  mortality, 

Reach  Thee  in  reverential  visitings  ? 

Forgive  me,  if  my  soul  too  boldly  flings 

Conjecture  forth  to  bridge  and  bring  me  nigh 

To  Thee.     I  only  do  in  truth  reply 

To  my  own  doubts,  my  heart's  sad  murmurings. 

I  do  but  put  away  all  thoughts  that  bar 

My  love  of  Thee,  and  clear  Thy  lovely  name 

From  things  that  with  Thy  high  perfection  jar, 

By  the  soul's  noblest  instincts  marked  with  blame ; 

Yet  in  my  ignorance  I  veil  my  face 

Before  the  throne  of  Thy  adored  grace. 


A  QUESTION  AND  ANSWER. 

Wheue  is  damnation?  — 
Man-woven  sadness !  — 

Hark  !  all  creation 
Answers  in  gladness! 

"  Sin  shall  dissolve 

In  goodness  supernal !  — 
Beauty  and  Joy 

Alone  are  eternal !  " 


CHAUNCEY    HARE   TOWNSHEI!?T>.  347 


WAIT. 

Wait  !  for  the  day  is  breaking, 
Though  the  dull  night  be  long ; 

Wait !  God  is  not  forsaking 

Thy  heart.     Be  strong  —  be  strong! 

Wait !  and  the  clouds  of  sorrow 
Shall  melt  in  gentle  showers, 

And  hues  from  heaven  shall  borrow, 
As  they  fall  amidst  the  flowers. 

Wait !  'tis  the  key  to  pleasure 

And  to  the  plan  of  God  ; 
Oh,  tarry  thou  His  leisure  — 

Thy  soul  shall  bear  no  load! 

Wait !  for  the  time  is  hasting 
When  life  shall  be  made  clear. 

And  all  who  know  heart-wasting 
Shall  feel  that  God  is  dear. 


htdhvitoM. 


illi0rellaneou5. 


SONGS  OF  BEING. 

THE   BIRTH. 

Hail  !  new-waked  atgm  of  the  Eternal  whole, 
Young  voyager  upon  Time's  mighty  river ! 
Hail  to  thee,  Human  Soul  ! 

Hail,  and  forever  ! 
Pilgrim  of  life,  all  hail ! 
He  who  at  first  called  forth 
From  nothingness  the  earth, 
Who  clothed  the  hills  in  strength,  and  dug  the  sea, 
Who  gave  the  stars  to  gem 
Night  like  a  diadem, 

Thou  little  child,  made  thee ; 
Young  habitant  of  earth, 
Fair  as  its  flowers,  though  brought  in  sorrow  forth, 
Thou  art  akin  to  God  who  fashioned  thee ! 

351 


352  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  heavens  themselves  shall  vanish  as  a  scroll, 
The  solid  earth  dissolve,  the  stars  grow  pale, 
Bat  thou,  O  Human  Soul, 

Shalt  be  immortal  !     Hail ! 
Thou  young  Immortal,  Hail ! 
He,  before  whom  are  dim 
Seraph  and  cherubim. 
Who  gave  the  archangels  strength  and  majesty, 
Who  sits  upon  heaven's  throne. 
The  everlasting  One, 

Thou  little  child,  made  thee  ! 
Fair  habitant  of  earth. 
Immortal  in  thy  God,  though  mortal  by  thy  birth, 
Born  for  life's  trials,  hail !  all  hail  to  thee ! 

THE   DEATH. 

Shrink  not,  O  Human  Spirit ! 
The  Everlasting  Arm  is  strong  to  save  ! 

Look  up,  look  up,  frail  nature  !  put  thy  trust 
In  Him  who  went  down  mourning  to  the  dust, 

And  overcame  the  grave  ! 

Quickly  goes  down  the  sun  ; 

Life's  work  is  almost  done  ; 
Fruitless  endeavor,  hope  deferred,  and  strife ! 

One  little  struggle  more, 

One  pang,  and  then  is  o'er 
AH  the  long,  mournful  weariness  of  life. 

Kind  friends,  'tis  almost  past  ; 

Come  now,  and  look  your  last ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  353 

Sweet  children,  gather  near, 

And  his  last  blessing  hear. 
See  how  he  loved  you  who  departeth  now  ! 
And,  with  thy  trembling  step  and  pallid  brow, 

O,  most  beloved  one, 

Whose  breast  he  leaned  upon, 

Come,  faithful  unto  death, 

Receive  his  parting  breath  ! 
The  fluttering  spirit  panteth  to  be  free, — 
Hold  him  not  back  who  speeds  to  victory  ! 

—  The  bonds  are  riven, the  struggling  soul  is  free! 

Hail,  hail,  enfranchised  spirit ! 
Thou  that  the  wine-press  of  the  field  hath  trod  ! 
On,  blessed  Immortal,  on  through  boundless  space, 
And  stand  with  thy  Redeemer,  face  to  face, 

And  stand  before  thy  God  ! 

Life's  weary  work  is  o'er, 

Thou  art  of  earth  no  more  : 
No  more  art  trammelled  by- the  oppressive  clay. 

But  tread'st  with  winged  ease 

The  high  acclivities 
Of  truths  sublime,  up  heaven's  crystalline  way. 

Here  is  no  bootless  quest ; 

The  city's  name  is  Rest ; 

Here  shall  no  fear  appall  ; 

Here  love  is  all  in  all ; 
Here  shalt  thou  win  thy  ardent  soul's  desire  ; 
Here  clothe  thee  in  thy  beautiful  attire. 

Lift,  lift  thy  wondering  eyes  ! 

Yonder  is  Paradise. 


854  MISCELLAXEOUS. 

And  this  fair  shining  band 

Are  spirits  of  thy  land  ! 
And  these  that  throng  to  meet  thee  are  thy  kin, 
Who  have  awaited  thee,  redeemed  from  sin  ! 
The  city  gates  unfold  —  enter,  O,  enter  in  ! 


WHERE  ARE  THE   DEAD? 

Where  are  the  mighty  ones  of  ages  past, 
Who  o'er  the  world  their  inspiration  cast, — 
Whose  memories  stir  our  spirits  like  a  blast?  — 
Where  are  the  dead  1 

Where  are  the  lofty  minds  of  Greece  ?     Where  be 
The  men  of  Sparta  and  Thermopylae  ? 
The  conquering  Macedonian,  where  is  he  ?  — 
Where  are  the  dead? 

Where  are  Rome's  founders?    Where  her  chiefest  son, 
Before  whose  name  the   whole  known   world   bowed 

down, — 
Whose  conquering  arm  chased  the  retreating  sun  ?  — 
Where  are  the  dead  ? 

Where's  the  bard-warrior  king  of  Albion's  state, 
A  pattern  for  earth's  sons  to  emulate, — 
The  truly,  nobly,  wisely,  goodly  great?  — 
Where  are  the  dead  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  355 

Where  is  Gaul's  hero,  who  aspired  to  be 
A  second  Caesar  in  his  mastery,  — 
To  whom  earth's  crowned    ones   trembling   bent   the 
knee  1  — 

Where  are  the  dead  ? 

Where  is  Columbia's  son,  her  darling  child. 
Upon  whose  birth  Virtue  and  Freedom  smiled, — 
The  Western  Star,  bright,  pure,  and  undefiled?  — 
Where  are  the  dead  ? 

Where  are  the  sons  of  song,  the  soul-inspired,  — 
The  bard  of  Greece,  whose  muse  (of  Heaven  acquired) 
With  admiration  ages  past  has  fired, — 
The  classic  dead  ? 

Greater  than  all,  —  an  earthly  Sun  enshrined, — 
Where  is  the  King  of  bards  ?     Where  shall  we  find 
The  Swan  of  Avon, —  monarch  of  the  mind, — 
The  mighty  dead  ? 

With  their  frail  bodies,  did  they  wholly  die, 
Like  the  brute  dead  passing  for  ever  by  ? 
Then  wherefore  was  their  intellect  so  high,  — 
The  mighty  dead  ? 

Why  was  it  not  confined  to  earthly  sphere,  — 
To  earthly  wants  1     If  it  must  perish  here. 
Why  did  they  languish  for  a  bliss  more  dear,  — 
The  blessed  dead? 


356  MISCELLANEOUS. 

If  here  they  perished,  in  their  bsing's  germ,  — 
Here  thought  and  aspiration  had  their  term,  — 
Why  should  a  giant's  strength  propel  a  worm  ?  — 
The  dead  —  the  dead,  — 

There  are  no  dead  !     The  forms,  indeed,  did  die, 
That  cased  the  ethereal  beings  now  on  high  : 
'Tis  but  the  outward  covering  is  thrown  by  :  — 
This  is  the  dead  ! 

The  spirits  of  the  lost,  of  whom  we  sing, 
Have  perished  not ;  they  have  but  taken  wing,  — 
Changing  an  earthly  for  a  Heavenly  spring  : 
There  are  the  dead  ! 


A  DREAM   OF  HEAVEN. 

Lo,  the  seal  of  death  is  breaking. 
Those  who  slept  its  sleep  are  waking, 

Eden  opes  her  portals  fair  ! 
Hark,  the  harps  of  God  are  ringing, 
Hark,  the  seraph's  hymn  is  singing, 
And  the  living  rills  are  flinging 

Music  on  immortal  air  ! 

There  no  more  at  eve  declining. 
Suns  without  a  cloud  are  shining 


MISCELLANEOUS.  357 

O'er  the  land  of  life  and  love  ; 
Heaven's  own  harvests  woo  the  reaper, 
Heaven's  own  dreams  entrance  the  sleeper 
Not  a  tear  is  left  the  weeper 

To  profane  one  flower  above. 

No  frail  lilies  there  are  breathing, 
There  no  thorny  rose  is  wreathing 

In  the  bowers  of  paradise  ; 
Where  the  founts  of  life  are  flowing, 
Flowers  unknown  to  time  are  blowing, 
Mid  far  richer  verdure  glowing 

Than  is  sunned  by  mortal  skies. 

There  no  sigh  of  memory  swelleth, 
There  no  tear  of  misery  dwelleth, 

Hearts  will  bleed  or  break  no  more  ; 
Past  is  all  the  cold  world's  scorning, 
Gone  the  night  and  broke  the  morning. 
With  seraphic  day  adorning 

Life's  glad  waves  and  golden  shore. 

Oh,  on  that  bright  shore  to  wander, 
Trace  those  radiant  waves  meander, 

All  we  loved  and  lost  to  see,  — 
Is  this  hope  so  pure,  so  splendid. 
Vainly  with  our  being  blended  ? 
No  !  with  time  ye  are  not  ended, 

Visions  of  eternity ! 


358  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THOUGHTS   FOR  THE    DEPARTED. 

Think  ever  of  the  dead  :  — 
When  Spring  is  beautiful,  when  Summer  shines, 
When  the  soft  skies  rose-mingled  lustre  shed,. 

When  autumn  sunbeams  kiss  the  purple  vines, 
And  when  the  snow-stars  glisten  —  to  them  wing 
Thy  gentlest  thought ;  they  filled  thy  life  with  spring. 

They  think  of  thee  —  the  dead  :  — 
The  glorious  dwellers  in  yon  peopled  skies  ! 
Their  thoughts,  like  dew-drops,  on  thy  heart  are  shed  : 

They  fill  thy  soul  with  blessed  sanctities,  — 
Sweet  inspirations  of  the  pure  aud  fair,  — 
The  spring-time  breathings  of  celestial  air  ! 

They  dwell  with  thee  —  the  dead  :  — 
Pavilioned  in  the  auroral  tents  of  light ; 
Their  spheres  of  heavenly  influence  round  thee  spread, 

Their  pure  transparence  veiling  them  from  sight. 
Angelic  ministers  of  love  and  peace, 
Whose  sweet  solicitudes  will  never  cease. 

They  strive  with  thee  —  the  dead  :  — 
Spirit  with  spirit  striving,  heart  with  heart, 
Alluring  from  the  paths  of  Wrong  you  tread, 
Spurned  and  resisted  they  may  not  depart, 
In  the  dark  prison  of  Life's  last  despair, 
Lo!  the  delivering  Angel's  with  thee  there  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  359 

They  watch  with  thee  —  the  dead  :  — ■ 
Through  the  last  agony,  the  doubt,  the  gloom, 
When  Sou!  and  Body  are  through  pain  unwed, 

And    Night   droops    down  —  the    midnight   of   the 
tomb  :  — 
And  o'er  the  soul  sense  steals  their  wakening  hymn, 
Familiar  —  yet  the  song  of  Seraphim. 

They  welcome  thee  —  the  dead  :  — 
The  soft,  sweet  glow  of  those  beloved  eyes 
Balms  each  worn  heart  that  long  hath  inly  bled, 

And  gives  new  glory  to  God's  paradise  ! 
Love  and  remember  them  —  unseen,  yet  near, — 
Their  white  feet  guide  thee  to  the  immortal  sphere ! 


THE   HAPPIER   SPHERE. 

If  yon  bright  stars  which  gem  the  night, 

Be  each  a  blissful  dwelling  sphere, 
Where  kindred  spirits  re-unite, 

Whom  death  has  torn  asunder  here, 
How  sweet  it  were  at  once  to  die. 

And  leave  this  blighted  orb  afar  — - 
Mix  soul  with  soul,  to  cleave  the  sky, 

And  soar  away  from  star  to  star. 

But  oh  !  how  dark,  how  drear,  how  lone 
Would  seem  the  brightest  world  of  bliss, 


360  inSCELLANEOUS. 

If  wandering  through  each  radiant  zone, 
We  failed  to  find  the  loved  of  this  ! 

If  there  no  more  the  ties  should  twine, 
Which  death's  cold  hand  alone  can  sever, 

Ah !  then  these  stars  in  mockery  shine, 
More  hateful  as  they  shine  forever. 

It  cannot  be  !  —  each  hope  and  fear 

That  blights  the  eye  or  clouds  the  brow, 
Proclaims  there  is  a  happier  sphere 

Than  this  black  world  that  holds  us  now  ! 
There  is  a  voice  which  sorrow  hears, 

When  heaviest  weighs  life's  galling  chain  ; 
'Tis  heaven  that  whispers  "  dry  thy  tears  — 

The  pure  in  heart  shall  meet  again !  " 


HOPE'S  BRIGHTER  SHORE. 

Thrice  happy  he  whom  through  each  devious  path 

The  Lamp  of  Faith  conducts  with  steady  light! 
His  spirit  quails  not  at  the  tempest's  wrath  ; 

He  trembles  not  when  lowers  the  moonless  night, 
Nor  fears  the  Ocean's  roar. 
O  !  life  may  have  its  sorrows  and  its  cares, 

Yet  come  they  but  from  sin  to  purify  ; 
While  Death  itself,  the  power  that  never  spares, 

Is  but  the  soul-bark  of  Mortality, 
Seeking  a  brighter  shore  1 


MISCELLANEOUS.  361 


FORGIYENESS   OF  ERROR. 

From  north  and  south,  from  east  and  west. 
Advance  the  myriads  of  the  blest . 
From  every  clime  of  earth  they  come, 
And  find  in  heaven  a  common  home. 

In  one  immortal  throng  we  view 
Pagan  and  Christian,  Greek  and  Jew  ; 
But,  all  their  doubts  and  darkness  o'er, 
One  only  God  they  now  adore. 

Howe'er  divided  here  below, 
One  bliss,  one  spirit,  now  they  know  , 
Though  some  ne'er  heard  of  Jesus'  name 
Yet  God  admits  their  honest  claim. 

On  earth,  according  to  their  light, 
They  aimed  to  practise  what  was  right ; 
Hence  all  their  errors  are  forgiven, 
And  Jesus  welcomes  them  to  heaven. 

BUTCHEB. 


CONVERSION. 


God's  voice  doth  sometimes  fall  on  us  with  fear ; 
More  often  with  a  music  low  yet  clear, 


362  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Sdft  whispering  "  It  is  I :  be  not  afraid." 

And  sometimes,  mingling  strangely  joy  with  dread, 

It  thrills  the  spirit's  caverned  sepulchre 

Deep  as  that  voice  which  on  the  awe-struck  ear 

Of  him,  the  three-days  buried,  murmuring,  said 

"  Come  forth  "  —  and  he  arose.     Oh  !  Christians,  hai' 

As  brethren  all  on  whom  our  glorious  Sun, 

No  matter  how,  or  when,  or  where,  hath  shone 

With  vital  warmth  ;  and  neither  mourn  nor  rail 

Because  one  light,  itself  unchanging,  showers 

A  thousand  colors  on  a  thousand  flowers. 

De  Verb. 


THE   STARS. 


'  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  sheweth  his  handy  work." 
—  Psalm  xix.  1, 

No  cloud  obscures  the  summer  sky, 
The  moon  in  brightness  walks  on  high. 
And,  set  in  azure,  every  star 
Shines,  like  a  gem  of  heaven,  afar  ! 

Child  of  the  earth  !  oh  !  lift  thy  glance 
To  yon  bright  firmament's  expanse  ; 
The  glories  of  its  realm  explore. 
And  gaze,  and  wonder,  and* adore! 

Doth  it  not  speak  to  every  sense 
The  marvels  of  Omnipotence? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  363 

Seest  thou  not  there  the  Almighty  name, 
Inscribed  in  characters  of  flame  ? 

Count  o'er  those  lamps  of  quenchless  light, 
That  sparkle  through  the  shades  of  night! 
Behold  them  !  — can  a  mortal  boast 
To  number  that  celestial  host  ? 

Mark  well  each  little  star,  whose  rays 
In  distant  splendor  meet  thy  gaze ; 
Each  is  a  world  by  Him  sustained, 
Who  from  eternity  hath  reigned.  * 

Each,  shining  not  for  earth  alone, 
Hath  suns  and  planets  of  its  own. 
And  beings,  whose  existence  springs 
From  Him  the  all-powerful  King  of  kings. 

Haply,  those  glorious  beings  know 
Nor  stain  of  guilt,  nor  tear  of  wo  ! 
But  raising  still  the  adoring  voice. 
For  ever  in  their  God  rejoice.  *' 

What  then  art  thou,  oh!  child  of  clay ! 
Amid  creation's  grandeur,  say  ? 
—  E'en  as  an  insect  on  the  breeze, 
E'en  as  a  dew-drop,  lost  in  seas  ! 

r 

Yet  fear  thou  not !  —  the  sovereign  hand, 
Which  spread  the  ocean  and  the  land, 


364  MISOELLAXEOrS. 

And  hung  the  rolling  spheres  in  air, 
Hath,  e'en  for  thee,  a  Father's  care! 

Be  thou  at  peace  !  —  the  all-seeing  eye, 
Pervading  earth,  and  air,  and  sky, 
The  searching  glance  which  none  may  flee, 
Is  still,  in  mercv,  turned  on  thee. 


ANGELIC  MINISTRY. 


And  is  th^re  care  in  Heaven  ?     And  is  there  love 

In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base, 

That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move  ? 

There  is  :  —  else  much  more  wretched  were  the  case 

Of  men  than  beasts :  but  O  !  the  exceeding  grace 

Of  highest  God,  that  loves  His  creatures  so, 

And  all  His  works  with  mercy  doth  embrace, 

That  blessed  Angels  He  sends  to  and  fro. 

To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  His  wicked  foe  ! 

How  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave. 
To  come  to  succor  us  that  succor  want ! 
How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pinions  cleave 
The  flitting  skies,  like  flying  pursuivant. 
Against  foul  fiends  to  aid  us  militant ! 
They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  duly  ward. 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant  ; 
And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward  ; 
O,  why  should  heavenly  God  to  men  have  such  regard? 
Edmund  Spenser.  — 1553-1598-9. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  365 


GOD'S  LOVE  UNCHANGEABLE. 

Every  human  tie  may  perish  ; 

Friend  to  friend  unfaithful  prove 
Mothers  cease  their  own  to  cherish, 

Heaven  and  earth  at  last  remove  ; 
But  no  changes 

Can  avert  the  Father's  love. 

In  the  furnace  God  may  prove  thee, 

Thence  to  bring  thee  forth  more  bright ; 
But  can  never  cease  to  love  thee  ; 
Thou  art  precious  in  his  sight  : 

God  is  with  thee,  — 
God,  thine  everlasting  light. 

Kellbt. 


JUDGE    GENTLY. 


Oh,  there  has  many  a  tear  been  shed. 

And  many  a  heart  been  broken, 
For  want  of  a  gentle  hand  stretched  forth, 

Or  a  word  in  kindness  spoken. 

Then  oh,  with  brotherly  regard 

Greet  every  son  of  sorrow, 
So  from  each  tone  of  love  his  heart 

New  hope,  new  strength,  shall  borrow. 


]QQ  ^  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Nor  turn,  with  cold  and  scornful  eye, 
From  him  who  hath  offended, 

But  let  the  harshness  of  reproof 
With  kindest  tones  be  blended. 

The  seeds  of  good  are  every  where  : 
And,  in  the  guiltiest  bosom, 

Would,  by  the  quickening  rays  of  love, 
Put  forth  their  tender  blossom  ;  — 

While  many  a  tempted  soul  hath  been 
.    To  deeds  of  evil  hardened, 
Who  felt  that  bitterness  of  grief, 
The  first  olfence  unpardoned. 


THOU   AllT   NOT   LOST. 

Thou  art  not  lost.  —  Thy  spirit  giveth 
Immortal  peace,  and  high  it  liveth ! 
Thou  art  not  mute.  —  With  angels  blending, 
Thy  voice  is  still  to  me  descending. 

Thou  art  not  absent.  —  Sweetly  smiluig, 
I  see  thee  yet,  my  griefs  beguiling ! 
Soft,  o'er  my  slumbers  art  thou  beaming. 
The  sunny  spirit  of  my  dreaming  ! 

Thine  eyelids  seem  not  yet  concealing 
In  death  their  orbs  of  matchless  feeling; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  367 

Their  living  charms  my  heart  stil  numbers  ; 
Ah  !  sure  they  do  but  veil  thy  slumbers  ! 

As  kind  thou  art ;  —  for  still  thou'rt  meeting 
This  breast,  which  gives  the  tender  greeting ! 
And  shall  I  deem  thee  altered  ?  —  Never  ! 
Thou'rt  with  me  waking  —  dreaming — ever! 


THE   MISSION    OF    CHRIST  UNIVERSAL. 

Oh,  yes!  there  is  joy  in  sincerely  believing, 

No  heart  that  is  faithless  can  dream  of,  or  know ; 
There  is  strength  in  the  thought  that  our  souls  are  re- 
ceiving 

Such  wealth  as  a  Father  alone  can  bestow. 
Then  away  with  the  dogma  that  sin  is  eternal  ! 

It  dims  the  bright  glow  of  Immaniiel's  name  ; 
For  it  was  net  to  build  up  a  kingdom  infernal 

That  Jesus,  the  Friend  of  the  sorrowful,  came. 

It  was  not  to  lay  in  the  path  of  the  blinded 

High  walls,  over  which  they  must  stumble  and  fall, 
That   He    came,  all    sublime   and    serene    and    hio-h- 
minded, 

And  laid  down  his  life  —  a  redemption  for  all  ! 
It  was  not  to  slaughter,  in  anger  and  blindness. 

The  wandering  lambs  that  were  dying  of  cold. 
That  he  lifted  them  up  to  his  bosom  in  kindness. 

And  brought  them  all  home  to  their  rest  in  the  fold. 


368  MISCELLANEOUS. 

He  is  good^ —  and  the  heart  that  serenely  reposes 

And  lays  down  its  burthens  to  rest  in  his  love, 
Will  find  that  the  door  of  salvation  ne'er  closes 

So  long  as  one  sinner  continues  to  rove. 
He  loves  the  young  lambs,  though  afar  they  are  straying, 

He  seeks  out  the  weary  with  tender  concern  ; 
Oh  hear  His  soft  voice  in  the  wilderness  praying, 

*'  To    the    arms    of    your    Saviour    poor    lost    ones 
return  !  " 

Mrs.  S.  C  Edgarton  Mayo.  —  1819-1848. 


THE    GOSPEL'S  PROMISES    FOR  ALL. 

Pour,  blessed  Gospel,  glorious  news  for  man  ! 

Thy  stream  of  life  o'er  springless  deserts  roll : 
Thy  bond  of  peace  the  mighty  earth  can  span. 

And  make  one  brotherhood  from  pole  to  pole. 

On,  piercing  Gospel,  on  !  of  every  heart. 
In  every  latitude,  thou  own'st  the  key : 

From  their  dull  slumbers  savage  souls  shall  start, 
With  all  their  treasures  first  unlocked  by  thee. 

Spread,  mighty  Gospel,  spread  thy  scaring  wings  ! 

Gather  thy  scattered  ones  from  every  land  : 
Call  home  the  wanderers  to  the  King  of  kings  ; 

Proclaim  them  all  thine  own  ;  'tis  Christ's  command 
C.  AsinvouTH.  — 1709-1744. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  369 


A  WALK  IN  A  CHURCHYARD. 

We  walked  within  the  churchyard  bounds, 

My  little  boy  and  I ; 
He,  laughing,  running  happy  rounds  — 

I,  pacing  mournfully. 

"  Nay,  child,  it  is  not  well,"  I  said, 

"  Among  the  graves  to  shout, 
To  laugh  and  play  among  the  dead, 

And  make  this  noisy  rout." 

A  moment  to  ray  side  he  clung, 

Leaving  his.merry  play, 
A  moment  stilled  his  joyous  tongue, 

Almost  as  hushed  as  they. 

Then  quite  forgetting  the  command, 

In  life's  exulting  burst 
Of  early  glee,  let  go  my  hand, 

Joyous  as  at  the  first. 

And  now  I  did  not  check  him  more, 

For,  taught  by  Nature's  face, 
I  had  grown  wiser  than  before, 

E'en  in  that  moment's  space. 

She  spread  no  funeral-pall  above 
That  patch  of  churchyard  ground, 


370  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  the  same  azure  vault  of  love 
As  hung  o'er  all  around. 

And  white  clouds  o'er  that  spot  would  pass 

As  freely  as  elsewhere ; 
The  sunshine  on  no  other  grass 

A  richer  hue  might  wear. 

And,  formed  from  out  that  very  mould 

In  which  the  dead  did  lie, 
The  daisy,  with  its  eye  of  gold, 

Looked  up  into  the  sky. 

The  rook  was  wheeling  overhead, 

Nor  hastened  to  be  gone  ;  • 
The  small  bird  did  its  glad  notes  shed, 

Perched  on  a  gray  headstone. 

And  God,  I  said,  would  never  give 

This  light  upon  the  earth, 
Nor  bid  in  childhood's  heart  to  live 

These  springs  of  gushing  mirth, 

If  our  one  wisdom  were  to  mourn, 

And  linger  with  the  dead, 
To  nurse,  as  wisest,  thoughts  forlorn 

Of  worm  and  earthy  bed. 

Oh,  no  !  the  glory  earth  puts  on. 
The  child's  unchecked  delight, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  371 

Both  witness  to  a  triumph  won, 
If  we  but  read  aright ;  — 

A  triumph  won  o'er  sin  and  death, 

From  these  the  Saviour  saves  ; 
And,  like  a  happy  infant,  Faith 

Can  play  among  the  graves. 


PUPIL  AND    TUTOR. 


P.  What  shall  I  do,  lest  life  in  silence  pass? 
T.  And  if  it  do, 

And  never  prompt  the  bray  of  noisy  brass, 

What  need'st  thou  rue  1 
Remember  aye  the  ocean  deeps  are  mute, 

The  shallows  roar. 
Worth  is  the  ocean  ;  fame  is  but  the  bruit 
Along  the  shore. 

P.  What  shall  I  do  to  be  forever  known  ? 
T.  Thy  duty  ever. 

P.  This  did  full  many  who  yet  sleep  unknown. 
T.  Oh  !  never,  never. 

Think'st  thou  perchance  that  they  remain  unknown 

Whom  thou  know'st  not? 
By  angel  trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is  blown, 
Divine  their  lot ! 


373  MISCELLANEOUS. 

P.  What  shall  I  do  to  have  eternal  life? 
T.  Discharge  aright 

The  simple  dues  with  which  the  day  is  rife. 

Yea,  with  thy  might. 
Ere  perfect  scheme  of  action  thou  devise, 

Will  life  be  fled  ; 
While  he  who  ever  acts  as  Conscience  cries 
Shall  live,  though  dead. 


LIFE'S  DISCIPLINE  A  TRAINING  FOR  HEAVEN. 

All  speaks  of  change  :  the  renovated  forms 
Of  long-forgotten  things  arise  again. 

The  light  of  suns,  the  breath  of  angry  storms, 
The  everlasting  motions  of  the  main, — 

These  are  but  engines  of  the  Eternal  will. 
The  One  Intelligence,  whose  potent  sway 

Has  ever  acted,  and  is  acting  still. 

Whilst  stars,  and  worlds,  and  systems  all  obey  ; 

Without  Whose  power,  the  whole  of  mortal  things 
Were  dull,  inert,  an  unharmonious  band. 

Silent  as  are  the  harp's  untuned  strings 
Without  the  touches  of  the  poet's  hand. 

A  sacred  spark,  created  by  His  breath, 

The  immortal  mind  of  man  His  image  bears ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  373 

A  spirit  living  'midst  the  forms  of  death, 

Oppressed,  but  not  subdued,  by  mortal  cares ; 

A  germ,  preparing  in  the  winter's  frost 

To  rise,  and  bud,  and  blossom  in  the  spring; 

An  unfledged  eagle  by  the  tempest  tossed, 
Unconsious  of  his  future  strength  of  wing  ; 

The  child  of  trial,  to  mortality 

And  all  its  changeful  influences  given ; 

On  the  green  earth  decreed  to  move  and  die. 
And  yet,  by  such  a  fate,  prepared  for  heaven ! 
Sir  Humphry  Davy.  —  1778-1829. 


WISDOM. 


Ah  !  when  did  wisdom  covet  length  of  days  ? 
Or  seek  its  bliss  in  pleasure,  wealth,  or  praise  ? 
No :  wisdom  views,  with  an  indifferent  eye, 
All  finite  joys,  all  blessings  born  to  die. 
The  soul  on  earth  is  an  immortal  guest. 
Compelled  to  starve  at  an  unreal  feast; 
A  spark  that  upward  tends  by  nature's  force, 
A  stream  diverted  from  its  parent  source ; 
A  drop  dissevered  from  the  boundless  sea, 
A  moment  parted  from  eternity  ! 
A  pilgrim  panting  for  a  rest  to  come  ; 
An  exile  anxious  for  his  native  home. 


374  MISCELLANEOUS. 


ALL   THINGS   ARE   YOURS. 

Ope,  ope,  my  Soul !  around  thee  press 

A  thousand  things  divine ; 
All  Glory  and  all  Holiness 

Are  waiting  to  be  thine. 

Lie  open,  Soul  !  be  swift  to  catch 

Each  glory  ere  it  flies  ; 
Life's  hours  are  charged,  to  those  who  watch, 

With  heavenly  messages. 

Lie  open  ;  Love  and  Duty  stand, 

Thy  guardian  angels,  near; 
To  lead  thee  gently  by  the  hand, — 

Their  words  of  welcome  hear  ! 

i^ie  open,  Soul !  the  Beautiful 

That  all  things  doth  embrace, 
Shall  every  passion  sweetly  lull 

And  clothe  thee  in  her  grace. 

Lie  open.  Soul  !  the  Great  and  Wise 

About  thy  portal  throng. 
The  wealth  of  souls  before  thee  lies, 

Their  crifts  to  thee  belong. 


Lie  open,  Soul !  lo,  Jesus  waits 
To  enter  thine  abode ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  375 

Messiah  lingers  at  thy  gates, — 
Let  in  the  Son  of  God  ! 

Receive  Him,  Soul  !  He  with  Him  brings 

The  blest  ones  from  above  ; 
The  heavenly  hosts  stretch  forth  their  wings 

To  seek  and  know  thy  love. 

Lie  open,  Soul !   in  watchfulness 

Each  brighter  glory  win  ; 
The  Infinite  thy  peace  shall  bless. 

And  God  shall  enter  in  ! 

O  awful  joy  !  O  Life  divine  ! 

O  bliss  too  great,  too  full ! 
Earth,  Man,  Heaven,  Angels,  all  are  thine 

And  thou  art  God's,  my  Soul  ! 

H.  New. 


THE   HEART   OF  UNBELIEF. 

Night  without  star  or  eve  or  dawning,  gloom 

Intense  and  chill  and  palpable,  lay  spread 
Where  sat  the  x\theist,  lone,  within  a  tomb,  — 
Pale  watcher  of  the  dead  !  — 

Each  beautiful  Belief  whose  living  form 

Within  the  spirit's  Pantheon  rose  enshrined ; 
Each  Faith  whose  radiant  wing  shed  sudden  morn 
Upon  the  illumined  mind  ; 


376  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Each  Hope  that  stood  with  angel-finger  spired 

And  pointing  to  the  illimitable  sky, 
Revealed  in  tones  with  inspiration  fired 
The  Soul's  great  destiny  ;  — 

All  to  that  unbelieving  heart  had  died, 

Filling  with  spectral  shapes  the  haunted  breast, 
And  left  him  in  the  midnight,  sorely  tried, 
Watching  their  awful  rest. 

Grave  seemed  to  shout  to  grave  like  deep  to  deep, 

The  blind  worms  revelled  in  the  festering  sod, 

And  a  voice  came,  as  death  comes  following  sleep, 

"  There  is  no  Soul,  no  God  !  " 

*'  No  Soul,  no  God  !  "  this  wail  for  evermore 

Beat,  surging  o'er  his  rigid  lips  of  stone. 
Like  the  wild  breakers,  on  some  wintry  shore, 
Making  perpetual  moan. 

Wondering  I  gazed  and  mused  and  wept  the  while. 

When,  lo  !  a  seraph  passed  before  my  face, 
And  the  calm  beauty  of  his  peaceful  smile 
With  day  filled  all  the  place. 

"  Would'st  know,"  he  said,  "  why  Pain  and  Fear  and 
Night 
With  dark  and  desolate  pinions  o'er  him  sweep  ? 
Learn  thou  that  Sin  clouds  heaven  from  human  sight : 
He  sowed  as  he  doth  reap ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  377 

"  Doubt  is  the  eternal  shade  by  Evil  cast ! 

'  The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine ' 
Fail  when  the  spirit  o'er  its  empire  vast 
Thrones  Appetite  and  Crime. 

"  Only  the  ear  in  chord  with  goodness  grown, 

Hears  the  full  tide  of  Truth's  immortal  hymn, 
The  heart  where  living  virtues  bloom  alone, 
God's  angels  enter  in  ! 

*'  Write  the  great  law  in  alphabet  of  flame, 

Sound  it  with  prophecy  and  psalm  abroad ; 
Doubt's  awful  tempests  veil  the  tents  of  shame : 
The  pure  alone  see  God  !  " 

Thomas  L.  Habbis. 


THE  DEAD. 


The  dead  alone  are  great ! 
While  heavenly  plants  abide  on  earth, 
The  soil  is  one  of  dewless  death ; 
But  when  they  die,  a  mourning  shower 
Comes  down  and  makes  their  memories  flower 

With  odors  sweet  though  late. 

The  dead  alone  are  fair  ! 
While  they  are  with  us,  strange  lines  play 
Before  our  eyes,  and  chase  away 


378  MISCELLANEOUS. 

God's  light ;  but  let  them  pale  and  die. 

And  swell  the  stores  of  memory  — 
There  is  no  envy  there. 

The  dead  alone  are  dear  ! 
While  they  are  here,  long  shadows  fall 
Fron)  our  own  forms,  and  darken  all  ; 
But  when  they  leave  us,  all  the  shade 
Is  round  our  own  sad  footsteps  made, 

And  they  are  bright  and  clear. 

The  dead  alone  are  blest ! 
While  they  are  here,  clouds  mar  the  day, 
And  bitter  snow-falls  nip  their  May  ; 
But  when  the  tempest-time  is  done, 
The  light  and  heat  of  Heaven's  own  sun 

Broods  on  their  land  of  rest. 

Henky  Alfobc. 


PROMISED  LIGHT. 


•  .\t  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." 
I  thank  Thee  for  thy  promise,  Lord  ; 

T   irough  all  this  weary  darkling  fight 
What  comfort  tiiese  sweet  words  afford  ! 

"  A.t  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." 
Then  why,  my  soul,  so  sad  and  low  ? 

P  rengthcii  thyself  in  heaven-sprung  might, 
And  on  thy  way  rejoicing  go. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  379 

"At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." 
Then  how  canst  thou  e'er  dare  to  fear, 

Though  now  the  sky  may  not  be  bright  — 
No  kindly  hand  or  voice  be  near  1 

Although  the  tempest  round  thee  roar, 
And  thou  mayst  seem  forsaken  quite, 

Yet  cheer,  faint  heart,  'twill  soon  be  o'er  : 
".  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." 

The  clouds  that  hide  the  sun  all  day, 
And  keep  his  glories  from  our  sight, 

As  night  draws  on,  shall  melt  away, 
"  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." 


IMMORTALITY. 


The  insect  bursting  from  its  tomb-like  bed  — 
The  grain  that  in  a  thousand  grains  revives  — 

The  trees  that  seem  in  wintry  torpor  dead  — 
Yet  each  new  year  renewing  their  green  lives  ; 

All  teach,  without  the  added  aid  of  Faith, 

That  life  still  triumphs  o'er  apparent  death  ! 

But  dies  the  insect  when  the  summer  dies  ; 

The  grain  hath  perished,  though  the  plant  remain  , 
In  death,  at  last,  the  oak  of  ages  lies  ; 

Here  Reason  halts,  nor  further  can  attain, 


380  MISCELLANEOUS. 

For  Reason  argues  but  from  what  she  sees, 
Nor  traces  to  their  goal  these  mysteries. 

But  Faith  the  dark  hiatus  can  supply  — 
Teaching,  eternal  progress  still  shall  reign ; 

Telling  (as  these  things  aid  her  to  espy) 
In  higher  worlds  that  higher  laws  obtain  ; 

Pointing,  with  radiant  finger  raised  on  high. 

From  life  that  still  revives,  to  life  that  cannot  die 


CHRISTIAN  TRUST. 


Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears  ; 

Hope  and  be  undismayed  ; 
God  hears  thy  sighs  and  counts  thy  tears ; 

God  shall  lift  up  thy  head. 
Through  waves,  through  clouds  and  storms, 

He  gently  clears  thy  way  ; 
Wait  thou  His  time  ;  so  shall  the  night 

Soon  end  in  joyous  day. 

He  everywhere  hath  way, 

And  all  things  serve  His  might ; 
His  every  act  pure  blessing  is, 

His  paths,  unsullied  light. 
When  He  makes  bare  His  arm. 

What  shall  His  work  withstand  ? 
When  He  His  people's  cause  defends, 

Who,  who  shall  stay  His  hand? 


MISCELLANEOUS  381 

Leave  to  His  sovereign  sway 

To  choose  and  to  command  ; 
With  wonder  filled,  thou  then  shalt  own 

How  wise,  how  strong.  His  hand. 
Thou  comprehend'st  Him  not 

Yet  earth  and  heaven  tell, 
God  sits  as  sovereign  on  the  throne  — 

He  ruleth  all  things  well. 

Thou  seest  our  weakness.  Lord ! 

Our  hearts  are  known  to  Thee  ; 
O  lift  Thou  up  the  sinking  head 

Confirm  the  feeble  knee  ! 
Let  us,  in  life  and  death, 

Boldly  Thy  truth  declare, 
And  publish  with  our  latest  breath 

Thy  love  and  guardian  care. 

P.  Gerharim, 


LIVE  AND   HELP  LIVE. 


Mighty  in  faith  and  hope,  why  art  thou  sad  ? 
Sever  the  green  withes,  look  up  and  be  glad  ! 
See  all  around  thee,  below  and  above, 
The  beautiful,  beautiful  gifts  of  God's  love  ! 

What   though   our    hearts    beat    with    death's    sullen 

waves  1 
What  though  the  green  sod  is  broken  with  graves  ? 


382  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  sweet  hopes  that  never  shall  fade  from  their  bloom. 
Make  their  dim  birth-chamber  down  in  the  tomb  I 

Parsee  or  Christianman,  bondman  or  free, 
Loves  and  humilities  still  are  for  thee; 
Some  little  good  every  day  to  achieve, 
Some  slighted  spirit  no  longer  to  grieve. 

In  the  tents  of  the  desert,  alone  on  the  sea, 
On  the  far-away  hills  with  the  starry  Chaldee  ; 
Condemned  and  in  prison,  dishonored,  reviled, 
God's  arm  is  around  thee,  and  thou  art  His  child. 

Mine  be  the  lip  ever  truthful  and  bold  ; 

Mine  be  the  heart  never  careless  nor  cold ; 

A  faith  humbly  trustful,  a  life  free  from  blame  — 

All  else  is  unstable  as  flax  in  the  flame. 

And  while  the  soft  skies  are  so  starry  and  blue ; 
And  while  the  wide  earth  is  so  fresh  with  God's  dew, 
Though  all  around  me  the  sad  sit  and  sigh, 
I  will  be  glad  that  I  live  and  must  die. 

Alice  Caret. 


RELIGIOUS   CASUISTRY. 


My  heart  is  sick,  my  whole  head  drooping  faints 
With  all  this  coil  of  Sabbaths  and  of  saints : 
Even  as  of  yore  the  Pharisaic  tribe, 
Lawyer  astute,  and  casuistic  Scribe. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  383 

Their  grievous  loads  on  weak  men's  shoulders  laid, 
Yet  would  not,  could  not,  lend  a  finger's  aid, 
So  still  God's  Law,  with  human  fancies  fraught, 
Is  circumscribed,  belied,  and  set  at  naught. 

One  damns  the  use  of  some  indifferent  dish, 
And  pins  his  hopes  of  heaven  on  Wednesday  fish ; 
This  shakes  his  head,  and  "  doubts  if  grace  be  sent 
To  those  who  pray  by  Act  of  Parliament ;" 
That  "  hopes  the  best  for  Schismatists,  but  can't 
See  aught  for  them  within  the  covenant." 

Meantime  the  inquirer,  penitent  and  lone, 
Who  gropes  in  darkness  for  the  Altar  Stone, 
Disturbed  by  doubt,  by  wakening  conscience  vexed, 
And  the  remembrance  of  some  child-learnt  text, 
Ponders  amazed,  if  one  of  these  be  true, 
Where  all  the  other  sects  are  wandering  to ; 
And  turns  from  priest  to  priest  with  vacant  eye, 
"  How  shall  I  save  my  soul  ?  "  his  anxious  cry. 

One  preaching  this  for  truth,  and  that  another. 
Proves  himself  fallible,  if  wrong  his  brother  ; 
For  all,  with  instinct's  true  consent,  declare 
God's  covenant,  a  blessing,  not  a  snare. 
"  Faith  Catholic,"  they  cry,  "  is  to  receive 
What  all  men,  always,  everywhere  believe : " 
Well  said  —  but  O  !  how  sadly  missed  the  uses 
Of  this,  their  own,  expcrimentum  cruets  — 
While  all  dispute  on  points  of  doctrine,  none 
Doubt  what  Religion  teaches  to  be  done. 

Bear  sorrow  here,  and  look  to  Heaven  for  bliss  — 
This  thy  theology,  thy  practice  this  : 


384  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Believe  God's  promises,  his  precepts  keep, 
Joy  with  the  joyful,  with  the  mourner  weep, 
Exalt  Love's  banner,  evermore  unfurled, 
And  keep  thyself  unspotted  from  the  world. 

O  blest  indeed,  if  thus  we  knew  our  good, 
O  blest  even  on  this  Earth,  if  but  we  would ! 
Sure  that,  though  shades  close  densely  round  our  way. 
The  path  of  Duty  leads  to  perfect  day. 

Blackwood's  Magazimb. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  GRACE. 

"  O  Lord,  open  Thou  my  lips ;  and  my  mouth  shall  show  forth  Thy  pralae." 

The  prayers  I  make  will  then  be  sweet  indeed, 
If  Thou  the  spirit  give  by  which  I  pray  ; 
My  unas-isted  heart  is  barren  clay, 

That  of  its  native  self  can  nothing  feed  : 

Of  good  and  pious  works  Thou  art  the  seed 
That  quickens  only  where  Thou  say'st  it  may  : 
Unless  Thou  show  to  us  Thine  own  true  way 

No  man  can  find  it :  Father  !  Thou  must  lead. 

Do  Thou,  then,  breathe  those  thoughts  into  my  mind 
By  which  such  virtue  may  in  me  be  bred 
That  in  Thy  holy  footsteps  I  may  tread ; 

The  fetters  of  my  tongue  do  Thou  unbind, 
That  I  may  have  the  power  to  sing  of  Thee, 
And  sound  Thy  praises  everlastingly. 

Michael  Angelo.  —  1474-1564. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  385 


THE  ELOQUENT  PASTOR. 

He  taught  the  cheerfulness  that  still  is  ours, 

The  sweetness  that  still  lurks  in  human  powers;  — 

If  heaven  be  full  of  stars,  the  earth  has  flowers ! 

His  was  the  searching  thought,  the  glowing  mind ; 
The  gentle  will  to  others'  soon  resigned  ; 
But,  more  than  all,  the  feeling  just  and  kind. 

His  pleasures  were  as  melodies  from  reeds, — 
Sweet  books,  deep  music  and  unselfish  deeds, 
Finding  immortal  flowers  in  human  weeds. 

True  to  his  kind,  nor  of  himself  afraid, 

He  deemed  that  love  of  God  was  best  arrayed 

In  love  of  all  the  things  that  God  has  made. 

He  deemed  man's  life  no  feverish  dream  of  care, 

But  a  high  pathway  into  freer  air, 

Lit  up  with  golden  hopes  and  duties  fair. 

He  showed  how  wisdom  turns  its  hours  to  years, 
Feeding  the  heart  on  joys  instead  of  fears. 
And  worships  God  in  smiles,  and  not  in  tears. 

His  thoughts  were  as  a  pyramid  up-piled, 

On  whose  far  top  an  angel  stood  and  smiled,  — 

Yet  in  his  heart  was  he  a  simple  child. 

Laman  Blanchard.  — 1803-1845. 


386  MISCELLANEOUS. 


UNIVERSALITY  OF  REDEMPTION 

Ye  nations,  worship  at  the  call ! 
Emmanuel  comes,  to  rescue  all 

From  death's  relentless  doom  ; 
Thou  slumbering  world,  awake  and  see 
Thy  life  and  immortality 

In  yon  poor  manger's  gloom ! 

Lay  down  your  worthy  offerings  here ; 
The  myrrh  he  loves  is  sorrow's  tear. 

O'er  conscious  guilt  distilled  ; 
His  frankincense  the  grateful  sigh 
Of  guilt  redeemed  from  misery  — 

Thus  be  his  temple  filled ! 

**  Peace  and  good  will  "  to  earth  he  brings, 
And  heaven  that  hears,  in  transport  sings  ! 

Oh  !  turn  to  him  alone, 
Turk,  Heathen,  Jew  !  till  heaven  behold 
One  Shepherd,  and  one  spotless  fold 

Surround  Jehovah's  throne. 

HoDQsoir* 


BLESSED   ARE  THE  DEAD. 

O,  HOW  blest  are  ye  whose  toils  are  ended  ! 
Who,  through  death,  have  unto  God  ascended ! 
Ye  have  arisen 
From  the  cares  which  keep  us  still  in  prison. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  387 

We  are  still  as  in  a  dungeon  living, 

Still  oppressed  with  sorrow  and  misgiving ; 

Our  undertakings 

Are  but  toils,  and  troubles,  and  heart-breakings. 

Christ  has  wiped  away  your  tears  forever ; 
Ye  have  that  for  which  we  still  endeavor. 
To  you  are  chanted 
Songs  which  yet  no  mortal  ear  have  haunted. 

Ah !  who  would  not,  then,  depart  with  gladness, 

To  inherit  heaven  for  earthly  sadness? 

Who  here  would  languish 

Longer  in  bewailing  and  in  anguish  ? 

Come,  O  Christ,  and  loose  the  chains  that  bind  us  I 
Lead  us  forth,  and  cast  this  world  behind  us. 
With  thee,  th'  Anointed, 
Finds  the  soul  its  joy  and  rest  appointed. 

From  the  German  of  Dach  by  Longfellow. 


MAN  EVER  RESTLESS. 


WnEN  God  at  first  made  man. 
Having  a  fount  of  blessings  standing  by, 

Let  us,  said  he,  pour  on  him  all  we  can ; 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie, 

Contract  into  a  span. 


388 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


So  strength  first  made  a  way; 
Then  beauty  flowed,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure; 

When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay ; 
Perceiving,  that  alone,  of  all  his  treasure, 
Rcst^  in  the  bottom  lay. 

For  if  I  should,  said  he. 
Bestow  this']e,we\  also  on  my  creature, 

He  would  adore  my  gifts  instead  of  me ; 
And  rest  in  nature,  not  the  God  of  nature  ;  — 
So  both  should  losers  be. 

Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness  ; 

Let  him  be  rich,  and  weary  ;  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 
May  toss  him  to  my  breast. 

George  Herbert.  —  1593-1632. 


ON  THE  DEATH    OF   AN   INFANT. 

With  what  unknown  delight  the  mother  smiled, 
When  this  frail  treasure  in  her  arms  she  pressed  I 

Her  prayer  was  heard,  —  she  clasped  a  living  child,— 
But  how  the  gift  transcends  the  poor  request ! 

A  child  was  all  slie  asked,  with  many  a  vow  ; 

Mother,  behold  the  child  an  angel  now  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  389 

Now  ill  her  Father's  house  she  finds  a  place; 

Or,  if  to  earth  she  take  a  transient  flight, 
'Tis  to  fulfil  the  purpose  of  His  grace, 

To  guide  thy  footsteps  to  the  world  of  light;  — 
A  ministering  spirit  sent  to  thee, 
That  where  she  is,  there  thou  mayst  also  be. 

Jane  Taylor.  — 1733-1823. 


VIA  CRUCIS,  VIA  LUCIS.* 

Through  the  cross  comes  the  crown  ;  when  the  cares 
of  this  life 

Like  giants  in  strength  may  to  crush  thee  combine, 
Never  mind,  never  mind !  after  sorrow's  sad  strife, 

Shall  the  peace  and  the  crown  of  salvation  be  thine. 

Through  woe  comes  delight :  if  at  evening  thou  sigh, 
And  thy  soul  still  at  midnight  in  sorrow  appears, 

Never  mind,  never  mind  !  for  the  morning  is  nigh. 
Whose  sunbeams  of  gladness  shall  dry  up  thy  tears ! 

Through  death  comes  our  life  :  to  the  portal  of  pain, 
Through   Time's  thistle  fields  are  our  weary  steps 
driven  ; 
Never  mind,  never  mind !  through  this  passage  we  gain 
The  mansions  of  light  and  the  portals  of  heaven. 
From  the  German  op  Kosegarten. 

•  The  way  of  the  Cross,  the  way  of  Light. 


390  MISCELLANEOUS. 


ITY  TIMES  ARE  IN  THY  HAND. 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand  ! 

I  know  not  what  a  day 
Or  e'en  an  hour  may  bring  to  me; 
But  I  am  safe  while  trusting  Thee, 
Though  all  things  fade  away. 
All  weakness,  I 
On  Him  rely, 
Who  fixed  the  earth  and  starry  sky. 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand ! 

Pale  poverty  or  wealth, 
Corroding  cares  or  calm  repose, 
Spring's  balmy  breath  or  Winter's  snows, 
Sickness  or  buoyant  health,  — 
Whate'er  betide, 
If  God  provide, 
*Tis  for  the  best  —  I  wish  no  lot  beside. 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand  ! 

Should  friendship  pure  illume 
And  strew  my  path  with  fairest  flowers, 
Or  should  I  spend  life's  dreary  hours 
In  solitude's  dark  gloom, 
Thou  art  a  friend 
Till  time  shall  end, 
Unchangeably  the  same ;  in  Thee  all  beauties  blend. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  391 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand  ! 

Many  or  few  my  days, 
I  leave  with  Thee  —  this  only  pray, 
That  by  Thy  grace  I,  every  day 
Devoting  to  Thy  praise, 
May  ready  be 
To  welcome  Thee, 
Whene'er  Thou  comest  to  set  my  spirit  free. 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand  ! 

Howe'er  those  times  may  end, 
Sudden  or  slow  my  soul's  release, 
'Midst  anguish,  frenzy,  or  in  peace, 
I'm  safe  with  Christ,  my  friend. 
If  He  be  nigh, 
Howe'er  I  die, 
'Twill  be  the  dawn  of  heavenly  ecstacy. 


FRAGMENTS. 


Upon  your  heart  this  truth  may  rise 
Nothing  that  altogether  dies 
Suffices  man's  just  destinies. 

So  should  we  live,  that  every  Hour 
May  die  as  dies  the  natural  flower,  - 
A  self-reviving  thing  of  power ; 


392  MISCELLANEOUS. 

That  every  Thought  and  every  Deed 
May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 
Of  future  good  and  future  meed  ; 

Esteeming  Sorrow,  whose  employ 
Is  to  develope,  not  destroy, 
Far  better  than  a  barren  Jov. 


II. 

O  ye !  who  talk  of  Death,  and  mourn  for  Death, 
Why  do  you  raise  a  phantom  of  your  weakness, 
And  then  shriek  loud  to  see  what  ye  have  made? 
There  is  no  Death,  to  those  who  know  of  Life  — 
No  Time  to  those  who  see  Eternity. 

RiCHAKD   M.    MiLNES. 


TO  THE  DANDELION. 


My  childhood's  earliest   thoughts    are  linked  with 
thee; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who,  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door  sung  clearly  all  day  long, 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety. 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 

With  news  from  Heaven,  which  he  did  bring 
Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears. 
When  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy  peers. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  393 

Thou  art  the  type  of  those  meek  charities 
Which  make  up  half  the  nobleness  of  life, 

Those  cheap  delights  the  wise 
Pluck  from  the  dusty  wayside  of  earth's  strife  ; 

Words  of  frank  cheer,  glances  of  friendly  eyes, 
Love's  smallest  coin,  which  yet  to  some  may  give 

The  morsel  that  shall  keep  alive 
A  starving  heart,  and  teach  it  to  behold 
Some  glimpse  of  God  where  all  before  was  cold. 

Thy  winged  seeds,  whereof  the  winds  take  care, 
Are  like  the  words  of  poet  and  of  sao-e 

Which  through  the  free  heaven  fare, 
And,  now  unheeded,  in  another  age 

Take  root,  and  to  the  gladdened  future  bear 
That  witness  which  the  present  would  not  heed, 

Bringing  forth  many  a  thought  and  deed, 
And,  planted  safely  in  the  eternal  sky. 
Bloom  into  stars  which  earth  is  guided  by. 

Full  of  deep  love  thou  art,  yet  not  more  full 
Than  all  thy  common  brethren  of  the  ground, 

Wherein,  were  we  not  dull, 
Some  words  of  highest  wisdom  might  be  found  ; 

Yet  earnest  faith  from  day  to  day  may  cull 
Some  syllables,  which,  rightly  joined,  can  make 

A  spell  to  soothe  life's  bitterest  ache. 
And  ope  Heaven's  portals,  which  are  near  us  still, 
Yea,  nearer  ever  than  the  gates  of  111. 


394  MISCELLANEOITS. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art ! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 
Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  show, 

Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 
And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


THE   LAW  OF  MERCY. 

'Tis  written  with  the  pen  of  heavenly  Love 

On  every  heart  which  skill  divine  has  moulded; 

A  transcript  from  the  statute  book  above, 

Where  angels  read  their  Sovereign's  will  unfolded. 

It  bids  us  seek  the  holes  where  Famine  lurks. 

Clutching  the  hoarded  crust  with  trembling  fingers ; 

Where  Toil  in  damp  unwholesome  caverns  works, 
Or  with  strained  eyeballs  o'er  the  needle  lingers. 

It  bids  us  stand  beside  the  dying  bed 

Of  those  about  to  quit  the  world  forever, 

Smooth  the  tossed  pillow,  prop  the  sinking  head, 

Cheer  the  heart-broken,  whom  death  hastes  to  sever. 

It  bids  us  tell  the  tempted  that  the  joy 

Of  guilt  indulged,  will  change  ere  long  to  sorrow  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  395 

The  draft  of  sickly  sweetness  soon  will  cloy, 
And  pall  upon  the  sated  taste  tomorrow. 

And  those  who  copy  thus  Christ's  life  on  earth, 
Feeding  the  poor,  and  comforting  the  weeper. 

Will  all  receive  a  meed  of  priceless  worth, 

When  ripely  gathered  by  the  heavenly  Reaper. 


TRUST   IN    PROVIDENCE. 

Whilst  Thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power! 

Be  my  vain  wishes  stilled  ; 
And  may  this  consecrated  hour 

With  better  hopes  be  filled. 

Thy  love  the  power  of  thought  bestowed, 
To  Thee  my  thoughts  would  soar ; 

Thy  mercy  o'er  my  life  has  flowed  ; 
That  mercy  I  adore. 

In  each  event  of  life,  how  clear 

Thy  ruling  hand  I  see  ! 
Each  blessing  to  my  soul  more  dear 

Because  conferred  by  Thee. 

In  every  joy  that  crowns  my  days, 

In  every  pain  I  bear. 
My  heart  shall  find  delight  in  praise. 

Or  seek  relief  in  prayer. 


396  MISCELLANEOUS. 

When  gladness  wings  my  favored  hour, 
Thy  love  my  thoughts  shall  fill ; 

Resigned,  when  storms  of  sorrow  lower, 
My  soul  shall  meet  Thy  will. 

My  lifted  eye  without  a  tear 
The  gathering  storm  shall  see ; 

My  steadfast  heart  shall  know  no  fear  ; 
That  heart  will  rest  on  Thee. 

Helen  Maria  Williams.  — 1762-1827. 


GOD'S  PURPOSES. 

"Unto  the  upright  there  ariseth  light  in  the  darkness." 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  wonders  to  perform  ; 
He  plants  His  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  His  bright  designs, 

And  works  His  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take  ; 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 

In  blessings  on  your  head. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  397 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense. 

But  trust  Him  for  His  grace  ; 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 

He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  His  work  in  vain  ; 
God  is  His  own  interpreter, 

And  He  will  make  it  plain. 

Wm.  Cowper.  — 1731-1800. 


NOTHING  GOOD  WILL  PERISH. 

Nothing  good  shall  ever  perish, 
Only  the  corrupt  shall  die  ; 

Truth,  which  men  and  angels  cherish, 
Flourishes  eternally. 

None  are  wholly  God-forsaken, 
All  His  sacred  image  bear  ; 

None  so  lost  but  should  awaken 
In  our  hearts  a  brother's  care. 


398  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Not  a  mind  but  has  its  wisdom  — 
Power  of  working  wo  or  weal  ; 

So  degraded  none's  condition 

But  the  world  its  weight  may  feel. 

Words  of  kindness,  words  of  warning. 
Deem  not  thou  may'st  work  in  vain. 

Even  those  thy  counsel  scorning, 
Oft  shall  they  return  again. 

Though  the  mind  absorbed  in  pleasure 
Holds  the  voice  of  counsel  light, 

Still  doth  faithful  memory  treasure, 
What  at  first  we  seemed  to  slight. 

Words  of  kindness  we  have  spoken. 
May,  when  we  have  passed  away, 

Heal,  perhaps,  a  spirit  broken. 
Guide  a  brother  led  astray. 

No  one  act  but  is  recorded  ; 

Not  a  word  but  has  its  weight : 
Every  virtue  is  rewarded  — 

Outrage  punished  soon  or  late. 

Let  no  being  then  be  rated 
As  a  thing  of  little  worth : 

Every  soul  that  is  created, 
Has  its  part  to  play  on  earth. 


J.  Haoim. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  399 


••FOR  I   SHALL   YET   PRAISE   HIM." 

While  the  Angels  are  all  singing, 
All  of  glory  ever  springing 
In  the  grounds  of  Heaven's  high  graces 
Where  all  virtues  have  their  places, 
O  that  my  poor  soul  were  near  them 
With  a  humble  heart  to  hear  them  ! 

But  ah  !  wretched,  sinful  creature ! 
How  should  the  corrupted  nature 
Of  this  wicked  heart  of  mine 
Think  upon  that  love  divine, 
That  doth  tune  the  Angels'  voices, 
Whilst  the  Host  of  Heaven  rejoices  ? 

Yet  while  Mercy  is  removing 
All  the  sorrow  of  the  loving, 
How  can  Faith  be  full  of  blindness, 
To  despair  of  Mercy's  kindness. 
While  the  hand  of  Heaven  is  giving 
Comfort  from  the  Ever-Living? 

No  !   my  Soul,  be  no  more  sorry  ! 
Look  unto  that  life  of  glory, 
Which  the  grace  of  Faith  regardeth, 
And  the  tears  of  Love  rewardeth, 
Where  the  soul  the  Comfort  getteth. 
That  the  Angels'  music  setteth  ! 


400  inSCELLANEOUS. 

There,  when  thou  art  well  conducted, 
And  by  heavenly  grace  instructed, 
How  the  faithful  thoughts  to  fashion 
Of  a  true  adorer's  passion. 
Sing  with  saints  to  Angels  nighest, 
"  Hallelujah  in  the  highest !  " 


Breton. 


THE   PRESENT   LIFE   IN   VIEW  OF  THE   FUTURE 

Oh,  if  we  are  not  bitterly  deceived  — 

If  this  familiar  spirit  that  communes 

With  yours  this  hour  —  that  has  the  power  to  search 

All  things  but  its  own  compass  —  is  a  spark 

Struck  from  the  burning  essence  of  its  God  — 

If,  as  we  dream,  in  every  radiant  star 

We  see  a  shining  gate  through  which  the  soul, 

In  its  degrees  of  being,  will  ascend  — 

If,  when  these  w^eary  organs  drop  away, 

We  shall  forget  their  uses  and  commune 

With  angels  and  each  other,  as  the  stars 

Mingle  their  light,  in  silence  and  in  love  — 

What  is  this  fleshly  fetter  of  a  day 

That  we  should  bind  it  with  immortal  flowers  1 

How  do  we  ever  gaze  upon  the  sky, 

And  watch  the  lark  soar  up  till  he  is  lost, 

And  turn  to  our  poor  perishing  dreams  away. 

Without  one  tear  for  our  imprisoned  wings  ! 

N.  P.  Willis. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  401 

GOD'S  MERCIES. 

"  Ey^tj  day  will  I  bless  Thee ;  and  I  will  praise  Tliy  name  for  ever  and  ever." 

When  all  Thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 

My  rising  soul  surveys  ; 
Transported  with  the  view  I'm  lost 

In  wonder,  love  and  praise. 

O  how  shall  words  with  equal  warmth 

The  gratitude  declare, 
That  glows  within  my  ravished  heart  1 

But  Thou  canst  read  it  there  ! 

Thy  providence  my  life  sustained, 

And  all  my  wants  redrest, 
When  in  the  silent  womb  I  lay. 

And  hung  upon  the  breast. 

To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries 

Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 
Ere  yet  my  feeble  thoughts  had  learned 

To  form  themselves  in  prayer. 

Unnumbered  comforts  to  my  soul 

Thy  tender  care  bestowed, 
Before  my  infant  heart  conceived 

From  whom  those  comforts  flowed. 

When  in  the  slippery  paths  of  youth 
With  heedless  steps  I  ran, 


402  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thine  arm  unseen  conveyed  me  safe, 
And  led  me  up  to  man. 

Through  hidden  dangers,  toils,  and  deaths, 

It  gently  cleared  my  way, 
And  through  the  pleasing  snares  of  vice 

More  to  be  feared  than  they. 

When  worn  with  sickness,  oft  hast  Thou 
With  health  renewed  my  face, 

And  when  in  sin  and  sorrows  sunk, 
Revived  my  soul  with  grace. 

Thy  bounteous  hand  with  worldly  bliss 

Has  made  my  cup  run  o'er ; 
And  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend 

Has  doubled  all  my  store. 

Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 

My  daily  thanks  employ  ; 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart, 

That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy. 

Through  every  period  of  my  life 

Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue  ; 
And,  after  death,  in  distant  worlds 

The  glorious  theme  renew. 

When  nature  fails,  and  day  and  night 
Divide  Thy  works  no  more. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  403 

My  ever  grateful  heart,  O  Lord, 
Thy  mercy  shall  adore. 

Through  all  eternity  to  Thee 

A  joyful  song  I'll  raise, 
For,  O  !  eternity's  too  short 

To  utter  all  Thy  praise. 

Joseph  Addison;       1672-1719. 


THE   CRY   OF  THE  HUMBLE. 

"  He  forgetteth  not  the  cry  of  the  humble." 

Soul  !  fear  not  lest  the  harmony 
Of  spheres  all  tuneful  at  one  time 
Great  Nature's  myriad-voiced  chime 
For  thy  weak  voice  too  strong  may  be. 

O  !  all  the  while  the  spheres  are  ringing, 
Yea,  while  the  seven  bright  Heavens  are  singing, 
While  all  the  people  of  the  sky 
Unto  their  Lord  make  melody,  — 

The  Lord  still  listens  for  thy  part ! 

Each  echo  from  a  lonely  heart 

Upbeareth  heavenward,  ere  it  dieth, 

The  humblest  voice  "  My  God  !  "  that  crieth. 

Lamabtine. 


404         '  MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE  BOOK   OF  NATURE. 

•  All  Thy  works  praise  Thee,  O  Lord,  and  Thy  saints  shall  bleia 

There  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read, 
Which  heavenly  truth  imparts, 

And  all  the  lore  its  scholars  need, 
Pure  eyes  and  Christian  hearts. 

The  works  of  God  above,  below, 

Within  us  and  around, 
Are  pages  in  that  book,  to  show 

How  God  Himself  is  found. 


The  glorious  sky  embracijig  all 

Is  like  the  Maker's  love, 
Wherewith  encompassed,  great  and  small 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

Two  worlds  are  ours  :  'tis  only  Sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within, 

Plain  as  the  sea  and  sky. 

Thou,  who  hast  given  me  eyes  to  see 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  me  a  heart  to  find  out  Thee, 

And  read  Thee  everywhere. 

EsBUb 


MISCELLANEOUS.  405 


THY   KINGDOM  COME. 

Listen,  awake,  inquire  : 

What  doth  the  watchman  cry  ? 

Is  He,  who  proves  the  earth  by  nre 
Descending  nigh  ? 

What  doth  the  watchman  say, 

Whose  call  the  slumberer  wakes  I 

"  The  night  hath  nearly  passed  away 
The  morning  breaks." 

Priests  !  statesmen  !  be  not  dumb  ; 

Seers  !  Peoples  !  shout  aloud, 
*'  Lord,  let  Thy  kingdom  quickly  come 

O'erthrow  the  proud  !  " 

Princes  and  nobles  all  ! 

Hark  to  the  solemn  cry  : 
Beneath  your  Judge  oppressions  fall 

Your  time  draws  nigh. 

Tremble,  ye  men  of  ease. 

Who  worship  self  for  God : 
Wide  sweeps  the  sword  of  His  decrees : 

Severe  His  rod  ! 

Stand  up  and  brace  the  heart ; 
Take  courage,  brethren  brave  ! 


406  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Prepare  to  act  a  noble  part : 
God  smites  to  save. 

In  war  He  is  our  peace ; 

Men's  thunder  is  His  voice  : 
Through  sufferings  sharp  He  brings  release 

Believe  !  rejoice  ! 

The  hours  with  steady  flight 

Haste  on  the  glorious  year  : 
The  triumph  of  Eternal  right 

Shall  soon  appear. 

In  those  more  blessed  days 

The  children  of  mankind 
Beneath  their  God's  benignant  gaze 

Mild  Peace  shall  find. 


ASSURANCE   OF   GOD'S   LOVE. 

O  !  WOULD  you  be  assured  you  love  your  God, 
Make  Him  a  God  that  must  be  loved  of  need, 
A  God  you  cannot  otherwise  than  love. 
Throw  off  that  yoke  of  joyless  servitude, 
That  niggard  balancing  of  right  and  wrong, 
Which  fears  to  give  too  little  or  too  much. 
Doubt  is  not  love  —  suspicion  is  not  love  ! 
Believe  that  He  has  known  you,  pitied  you, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  407 

Taken  you  Himself  from  prison  and  from  death, 

Sought  and  pursued  you  through  a  world  of  ill  — 

Restrained  you,  taught  you,  reared  you  for  His  own. 

Believe  that  He  forgives  you  every  sin, 

Pays  every  debt,  and  cancels  every  claim  — 

Watches  beside  your  pillow  while  you  sleep. 

Supports  you,  leads  you,  guards  you  when  you  wake, 

And  bids  His  angels  know  no  better  task 

Than  to  administer  to  you  His  child  ;  — 

And  while  in  heaven's  high  mansion  He  prepares 

The  seat  of  royalty  He  bids  you  claim, 

Arrays  you  in  a  vesture  so  divine, 

Of  holiness  and  virtue  not  your  own, 

That  when  the  hour  of  just  adjudgment  comes, 

All  may  confess  in  you  the  heir  of  heaven. 

Believe  the  Lord  your  God  is  such  an  one, 

And  you  must  love  Him,  even  to  your  soul. 

Caroline  Fry 


THE    UNSEARCHABLE. 

"  O  I  God  most  hidden  and  most  manifest."  —  St.  Augustine. 

O  HEIGHT  that  doth  all  height  excel. 

Where  the  Almighty  doth  abide ! 
O  awful  depth  unsearchable. 

Wherein  the  Eternal  One  doth  hide  ! 

O  dreadful  glory  that  doth  make 

Thick  darkness  round  the  Heavenly  Throne, 


408  anSCELLANEOUS. 

Througn  which  no  angel  eye  may  break. 
Wherein  the  Lord  doth  dwell  alone ! 

Our  fainting  souls  the  quest  give  o'er, 
Their  weary  wings  no  longer  try  ; 

His  dwelling  we  may  not  explore, 
We  may  not  on  His  glory  pry. 

What  secret  place,  what  distant  star, 
Is  like,  dread  Lord,  to  Thine  abode  ? 

Why  dwellest  Thou  from  us  so  far  ? 

We  yearn  for  Thee,  Thou  Hidden  God  ! 

Vain  searchers  !  but  we  need  not  mourn, 
We  need  not  stretch  our  weary  wings  ; 

Thou  meetest  us,  where'er  we  turn. 

Thou  beamest,  Lord,  from  all  bright  things. 

The  glory  no  man  may  abide 

Doth  visit  us,  a  gracious  guest. 
Thou,  whom  "  excess  of  light"  doth  hide, 

Here  shinest  sweetly  manifest. 

But  sweetest  dost  Thou,  Lord,  appear 
In  the  dear  Saviour's  smiling  face  ; 

The  Heavenly  Majesty  draws  near 
And  offers  us  its  soft  embrace. 

To  us,  vain  searchers  after  God, 
To  us  the  Holy  Ghost  doth  come  : 


MISCELLANEOUS.  409 

From  us  Thou  hidest  Thine  abode, 

But  Thou  wilt  make  our  souls  Thy  home. 

O  Glory  that  no  eye  may  bear  !  — 

O  Presence  Bright,  our  soul's  sweet  Guest ! 

O  farthest  off,  O  ever  near  ! 

Most  Hidden  and  Most  Manifest ! 

T.  H.  Gill. 


THE  FUTURE   LIFE. 


How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 
The  disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 

When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither  sleeps 
And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread  ? 

For  I  shall  feel  the  sting  of  ceaseless  pain 
If  there  I  meet  thy  gentle  presence  not ; 

Nor  hear  the  voice  I  love,  nor  read  again 
In  thy  serenest  eyes  the  tender  thought. 

Will  not  thy  own  meek  heart  demand  me  there  1 
That  heart  whose  fondest  throbs  to  me  were  given? 

My  name  on  earth  was  ever  in  thy  prayer. 

Shall  it  be  banished  from  thy  tongue  in  heaven  ? 

In  meadows  fanned  by  heaven's  life-breathing  wind, 
In  the  resplendence  of  that  glorious  sphere, 


4t0  .    MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  larger  movements  of  the  unfettered  miml, 
Wilt  thou  forget  the  love  that  joined  us  here  ? 

The  love  that  lived  through  all  the  stormy  past, 
And  meekly  with  my  harsher  nature  bore, 

And  deeper  grew,  and  tenderer  to  the  last,  — 
Shall  it  expire  with  life,  and  be  no  more  ? 

A  happier  lot  than  mine,  and  larger  light 

Await  thee  there ;  for  thou  hast  bowed  thy  will 

In  cheerful  homage  to  the  rule  of  right. 
And  lovest  all,  and  renderest  good  for  ill. 

For  me,  the  sordid  cares  in  which  I  dwell, 

Shrink  and  consume  my  heart,  as  heat  the  scroll ; 

And  wrath  has  left  its  scar  —  that  fire  of  hell 
Has  left  its  frightful  scar  upon  my  soul. 

Yet  though  thou  wear'st  the  glory  of  the  sky, 
Wilt  thou  not  keep  the  same  beloved  name, 

The  same  fair  thoughtful  brow,  and  gentle  eye. 
Lovelier  in  heaven's  sweet  climate,  yet  the  same? 

Shalt  thou  not  teach  me,  in  that  calmer  home, 
The  wisdom  that  I  learned  so  ill  in  this  — 

The  wisdom  which  is  love  —  till  I  become 
Thy  fit  companion  in  the  world  of  bliss? 

William  C.  Bkyant. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  411 


NOT  FOR  NOUGHT. 

Do  and  suffer  nought  in  vain  : 

Let  no  trifling  be  : 
If  the  salt  of  life  is  pain, 

Let  e'en  wrongs  bring  good  to  thee  ; 
Good  to  others,  few  or  many  ; 
Good  to  all  or  good  to  any. 

If  men  curse  thee,  plant  their  lies 

Where,  for  truth,  they  best  may  grow ; 

Let  the  railers  make  thee  wise. 

Preaching  peace,  where'er  thou  go  : 

God  no  useless  plant  hath  planted, 

Evil  (wisely  used)  is  wanted. 

If  the  nation-feeding  corn 

Thriveth  under  iced  snow ; 
If  the  small  bird,  on  the  thorn, 

Useth  well  its  guarded  sloe  ; 
Bidi;hy  cares  thy  comforts  double  ; 
Gather  fruit  from  thorns  of  trouble. 

See  the  Rivers  !  how  they  run. 

Strong  in  gloom,  and  strong  in  light ! 

Like  the  never-wearied  sun, 

Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 

Each  along  his  path  of  duty. 

Turning  coldness  into  beauty! 

Ebenezer  Elliott.  — 1781-1845. 


4l12  miscellaneous. 


FAITH. 

Ye  who  think  the  truth  ye  sow 

Lost  beneath  the  winter's  snow^ 

Doubt  not,  Time's  unerring  law 

Yet  shall  bring  the  genial  thaw. 
God  in  nature  ye  can  trust,  — » 
Is  the  God  of  mind  less  just  t 

Read  we  not  the  mighty  thought 
Once  by  ancient  sages  taught  1 
Though  it  withered  in  the  blight 
Of  the  mediseval  night, 

Now  the  harvest  we  behold  ; 

See  !  it  bears  a  thousand  fold. 

Workers  on  the  barren  soil. 
Yours  may  seem  a  thankless  toil ; 
Sick  at  heart  with  hope  deferred, 
Listen  to  the  cheering  word  : 

Now  the  faithful  sower  grieves ; 

Soon  he'll  bind  his  golden  sheaves. 

If  Great  Wisdom  have  decreed 
Man  may  labor,  yet  the  seed 
Never  in  this  life  shall  grow. 
Shall  the  sower  cease  to  sow  1 

The  fairest  fruit  may  yet  be  boro 

On  the  resurrection  morn  ! 

Fritz  and  Leoleti. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  413 


A  SIGHT  OF  HEAVEN   IN   SICKNESS. 

Oft  have  I  sat  in  secret  sighs 

To  feel  my  flesh  decay, 
Then  groaned  aloud  with  frighted  eyes 

To  view  the  tottering  clay. 

But  I  forbid  my  sorrows  now, 
Nor  dares  the  flesh  complain  ; 

Diseases  bring  their  profit  too  ; 
The  joy  o'ercomes  the  pain. 

My  cheerful  soul  now  all  the  day 
Sits  waiting  here  and  sings  ; 

Looks  through  the  ruin  of  her  clay, 
And  practises  her  wings. 

Faith  almost  changes  into  sight 

While  from  afar  she  spies 
Her  fair  inheritance,  in  light 

Above  created  skies. 

Had  but  the  prison  walls  been  strong 

And  firm,  without  a  flaw, 
In  darkness  she  had  dwelt  too  long, 

And  less  of  glory  saw. 

But  now  the  everlasting  hills 
Through  every  chink  appear, 


414  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  something  of  the  joy  she  feels 
While  she's  a  prisoner  here. 

The  shines  of  heaven  rush  sweetly  in 

At  all  the  gaping  flaws, 
Visions  of  endless  bliss  are  seen, 

And  native  air  she  draws. 

O  may  these  walls  stand  tottering  still, 

The  breaches  never  close, 
If  I  must  here  in  darkness  dwell, 

And  all  this  glory  lose ! 

Or  rather  let  this  flesh  decay, 

The  ruins  wider  grow, 
Till,  glad  to  see  the  enlarged  way, 

I  stretch  my  pinions  through. 

Isaac  Watts.  — 1674-1748. 


FOR  HELP  IN  TROUBLE. 

Lowly  and  solemn  be 
Thy  children's  cry  to  Thee, 

Father  divine  ! 
A  hymn  of  suppliant  breath. 
Owning  that  life  and  death 

Alike  are  Thine  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  415 

O  Father  !  in  that  hour 

When  earth  all  succoring  power 

Shall  disavow ; 
When  spear,  and  shield,  and  crown, 
In  faintness  are  cast  down, — 

Sustain  us.  Thou  ! 

By  Him  who  bowed  to  take 
The  death-cup  for  our  sake, 

The  thorn,  the  rod  ; 
From  whom  the  last  dismay 
Was  not  to  pass  away,  — 

Aid  us,  O  God  ! 

Tremblers  beside  the  grave, 
We  call  on  Thee  to  save, 

Father  divine  ! 
Hear,  hear  our  suppliant  breath, 
Keep  us  in  life  and  death, 

Thine,  only  Thine  ! 


THE  LORD'S   CHASTENING. 

"  Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  He  chasteneth^- 

Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away, 
Wish  me  a  wise  and  thankful  heart. 

With  God,  in  all  my  griefs,  to  stay, 
Nor  from  His  loved  correction  start. 


416  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  dearest  offering  He  can  crave 
His  portion  in  our  souls  to  prove, 

What  is  it  to  the  gift  He  gave, 
The  only  Son  of  His  dear  love  ? 

But  we,  like  vexed  unquiet  sprites. 
Will  still  be  hovering  o'er  the  tomb. 

Where  buried  lie  our  vain  delights, 
Nor  sweetly  take  a  sinner's  doom. 

In  Life's  long  sickness  evermore 

Our  thoughts  are  tossing  to  and  fro  : 

We  change  our  posture  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  cannot  rest,  nor  cheat  our  woe. 

Were  it  not  better  to  lie  still, 

Let  Him  strike  home,  and  bless  the  rod, 
Never  so  safe  as  when  our  will 

Yields  undiscerned  by  all  but  God  ? 

Thy  precious  things,  whate'er  they  be 

That  haunt  and  vex  thee,  heart  and  brain, 

Look  at  the  Cross,  and  thou  shalt  see 
How  thou  may'st  turn  them  all  to  gain ! 

Lovest  thou  praise  ?  the  Cross  is  shame  : 
Or  ease  ?  the  Cross  is  bitter  grief: 

More  pangs  than  tongue  or  heart  can  frame 
Were  suffered  there  without  relief 


MISCELLANEOUS.  417 

We  of  that  altar  would  partake, 

But  cannot  quit  the  cost  —  no  throne 

Is  ours,  to  leave  for  Thy  dear  sake  — 
We  cannot  do  as  Thou  hast  done. 

We  cannot  part  with  Heaven  for  Thee  — 
Yet  guide  us  in  Thy  track  of  love  : 

Let  us  gaze  on  where  light  should  be, 
Though  not  a  beam  the  clouds  remove. 

So  wanderers  ever  fond  and  true 

Look  homeward  through  the  evening  sky, 

Without  a  streak  of  Heaven's  soft  blue 
To  aid  Affection's  dreaming  eye. 

The  wanderer  seeks  his  native  bower, 
And  we  will  look  and  long  for  Thee, 

And  thank  Thee  for  each  trying  hour, 
Wishing,  not  struggling,  to  be  free. 

Keblb. 


LIGHT   A^HD   DARICNESS. 

Uat  unto  you  that  fear  my  name,  shall  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  arise,  with  hudinf 
in  His  wings." 

Sometimes  a  light  surprises 

The  Christian  as  he  sings; 
It  is  the  Lord  who  rises 

With  healing  on  His  wings  : 


418  MISCELLAJOSOUS. 

When  comforts  are  declining. 

He  grants  the  soul  again 
A  season  of  clear  shining 

To  cheer  it  after  rain. 

In  holy  contemplation 

We  sweetly  then  pursue 
The  theme  of  God's  salvation. 

And  find  it  ever  new  ; 
Set  free  from  present  sorrow, 

We  cheerfully  can  stay, 
E'en  let  the  unknown  tomorrow 

Bring  with  it  what  it  may. 

It  can  bring  with  it  nothing 

But  He  will  bear  us  through  ; 
Who  o-ives  the  lilies  clothing 

Will  clothe  His  people  too. 
Beneath  the  spreading  heavens 

No  creature  but  is  fed  ; 
And  He,  who  feeds  the  ravens, 

Will  give  His  children  bread. 

Though  vine  nor  fig-tree  neither 
Their  wonted  fruit  should  bear, — 

Though  all  the  field  should  wither, 
Nor  flocks  nor  herds  be  there  ;  — 

Yet  God  the  same  abiding, 

His  praise  shall  tune  my  voice  ; 

For,  while  in  Him  confiding, 

I  cannot  but  rejoice. 

Wm.  Cowpeb. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  419 


PRACTICAL  DEVOTION. 

"  Beloved,  if  God  so  loved  us,  we  ought  also  to  love  one 

Father  of  our  feeble  race  ! 

Wise,  beneficent  and  kind  ! 
Spread  o'er  nature's  ample  face, 

Flows  Thy  goodness  unconfined. 
Musing  in  the  silent  grove, 

Or  the  busy  walks  of  men, 
Still  we  trace  Thy  wondrous  love, 

Claiming  large  returns  again. 

Lord  !  what  offering  shall  we  bring 

At  Thy  altar  when  we  bow  ? 
Hearts,  —  the  pure,  unsullied  spring 

Whence  the  kind  affections  flow  ! 
Soft  Compassion's  feeling  soul, 

By  the  melting  eye  expressed  I 
Sympathy,  at  whose  control, 

Sorrow  leaves  the  wounded  breast !  — 

V/illing  hands  to  lead  the  blind, 

Bind  the  wounded,  feed  the  poor  !  — 
Love,  embracing  all  our  kind  ! 

Charity,  with  liberal  store  ! 
Teach  us,  O  Thou  Heavenly  King ! 

Thus  to  show  our  grateful  mind  ; 
Thus  th'  accepted  offering  bring,  — 

Love  to  Thee  and  all  mankind  ! 

Jane  Taylor. 


420  MISCELLANEOUS. 


GRACE  AND  GRATITUDE. 

Lord  !  come  too  many  gifts  from  Thee 

For  us  to  mark  each  gift  ? 
Down  streams  Thy  grace  too  plenteously 

Our  spirits  up  to  lift  ? 

Thy  light  would  glorify  our  lot ; 

Thyself  besets  our  way  : 
And  yet  Thine  ingrates  feel  Thee  not, 

And  yet  Thy  pilgrims  stray. 

Still  sometimes  glorious  grows  the  road, 
And  grateful  raptures  come  ; 

All  close  and  tender  feels  our  God,  — 
All  near  appears  our  home. 

Some  sweet  surprise  our  souls  doth  take 
Straight  to  the  heavenly  Throne  :  — 

Some  sudden  blaze  of  bliss  doth  make 
The  Lord's  bright  Presence  known. 

Or  midst  some  mighty  woe  awhile 

Our  gracious  God  appears, 
And  strangely  beams  th'  Eternal  Smile 

Amid  the  mortal  tears. 

Alas  these  visits  rare  and  rude 
Unto  Thy  Holy  Place!  — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  42I 

Our  weak,  wild  bursts  of  gratitude  — 
Thy  calm,  clear  deeps  of  grace  ! 

O  never  shall  Thy  mercy  make 

Our  souls  to  rest  in  Thine  ? 
Nor  mortal  gratitude  partake 

The  flow  of  Grace  Divine  ? 

When  shall  our  grateful  raptures  rise 

Fast  as  Thy  grace  descends, 
And  link  to  endless  harmonies 

The  Love  that  never  ends  ! 

T.  H.  Gi  LI- 


THE  SOUL'S  RELIANCE. 

Interval  of  grateful  shade, 
Welcome  to  my  weary  head  ! 
Welcome  slumbers  to  my  eyes, 
Tired  with  glaring  vanities  ! 
My  great  Master  still  allows 
Needful  periods  of  Repose  : 
By  my  Heavenly  Father  blest 
Thus  I  give  my  powers  to  rest. 


Heavenly  Father  !  gracious  name  ! 
Night  and  Day  His  love  the  same  : 
Far  be  each  suspicious  thought, 
Every  anxious  care  forgot  : 


423  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thou,  my  ever  bounteous  God, 
Crown'st  my  days  with  various  good  : 
Thy  kind  eye,  that  cannot  sleep. 
These  defenceless  hours  shall  keep. 

What  if  death  my  sleep  invade  ? 
Should  I  be  of  death  afraid  ? 
Whilst  encircled  by  Thy  arm, 
Death  may  strike  but  cannot  harm. 
With  Thy  heavenly  presence  blest, 
Death  is  life,  and  labor  rest. 
Welcome  sleep  or  death  to  me. 
Still  secure,  if  still  with  Thee. 

Philip  Doddridge.  — 1702-1751. 


UPWARD   TENDENCIES   OF  THE   SOUL. 

From  the  birth 

Of  mortal  man,  the  sovereign  Maker  said, 

That  not  in  humble  nor  in  brief  delight. 

Not  in  the  fading  echoes  of  Renown, 

Power's  purple  robes,  nor  Pleasure's  flowery  lap, 

The  soul  should  find  enjoyment :  but  from  these 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 

Throuorh  all  the  ascent  of  thino^s  enlarge  her  view, 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear, 

And  infinite  perfection  close  the  scene. 

Akenside.  — 1721-1770. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  423 


THE   RAINBOW. 


Sweet  Dove  !  the  softest  steadiest  plume 

In  all  the  sunbright  sky, 
Brightening  in  every  changing  gloom, 

As  breezes  change  on  high  ;  — 

Sweet  Leaf!  the  pledge  of  peace  and  mirth 
"  Long  sought  and  lately  won," 

Blest  increase  of  reviving  Earth 
When  first  it  felt  the  sun  ;  — 

Sweet  Rainbow !  pride  of  summer  days. 
High  set  at  Heaven's  command, 

Though  into  drear  and  dusky  haze 
Thou  melt  on  either  hand  ;  — 

Dear  tokens  of  a  pardoning  God, 

We  hail  you,  one  and  all, 
As  when  our  fathers  walked  abroad, 

Freed  from  their  twelve-months'  thrall ! 

Lord  !  if  our  fathers  turned  to  Thee 

With  such  adoring  gaze, 
Wondering  frail  men  Thy  light  should  see 

Without  Thy  scorching  blaze  ;  — 

Where  is  our  love  and  where  our  hearts 
We  who  have  seen  Thy  Son, 


424  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Have  tried  Thy  Spirit's  winning  arts, 
And  yet  we  are  not  won  ? 

The  Son  of  God  in  radiance  beamed 
Too  bright  for  us  to  scan  ; 

But  we  may  face  the  rays  that  streamed 
From  the  mild  Son  of  Man. 

There,  parted  into  rainbow  hues 
In  sweet  harmonious  strife, 

We  see  celestial  Love  diffuse 
Its  light  o'er  Jesus'  life. 

God  by  His  bow  vouchsafed  to  write 
This  truth  in  heaven  above  : 

As  every  lovely  hue  is  Light, 
So  every  grace  is  Love. 


Keblb. 


WISDOM  AND   LOVE. 

God  is  love  :  His  mercy  brightens 
All  the  path  in  which  we  rove : 

Bliss  He  wakes,  and  woe  He  lightens ; 
God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

Chance  and  change  are  busy  ever  ; 

Man  decays,  and  ages  move ; 
But  His  mercy  waneth  never, 

God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  425 

Even  the  hour  that  darkest  seemeth 
Will  his  changeless  goodness  prove  ; 

From  the  mist  His  brightness  streameth, 
God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

He  with  earthly  cares  entwineth 

Hope  and  comfort  from  above  • 
Everywhere  His  glory  shineth  ; 

God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

BOWRING. 


TO   NIGHT. 


Mysterious  night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And,  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 

Within  thy  beams,  O  sun  ?  or  who  could  find. 
Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind  ? 
Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death  with  anxious  strife? 
If  light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  life  ? 

J.  Blanco  White, 


426  MISCELLANEOUS. 


LOOKING  TO   JESUS. 

Thou,  to  our  woe  who  down  didst  come. 

Who  one  with  us  wouldst  be, 
Wilt  lift  us  to  Thy  Heavenly  home, 

Wilt  make  us  one  with  Thee. 

Our  earthly  garments  Thou  hast  worn, 

And  we  Thy  robes  shall  wear  ! 
Our  mortal  burdens  Thou  hast  borne, 

And  we  Thy  bliss  may  bear  1 

O  mighty  grace,  our  life  to  live, 

To  make  our  earth  divine  ; 
O  mighty  grace  !  Thy  Heaven  to  give, 

And  lift  our  Life  to  Thine  ! 

O  strange  the  gifts  and  marvellous. 

By  Thee  received  and  given  ! 
Thou  tookest  woe  and  death  from  us, 

And  we  receive  Thy  Heaven ! 

T.  H.  Gill. 


"■m  0oul9  are  JKtm  " 


Ezekiel,  xviii.  4. 

iALL  souls,  0  Lord,  are  Thine  ;  —  assuranc*  Vil*     ^ 
Thine,  not  our  own  to  rob  of  Help  Divine ; 

Not  man's,  to  doom  by  any  human  test, 

But  Thine,  0  gracious  Lord,  and  only  Thine ! 

Surely  "  the  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die  "  — 
Die  to  the  sin  that  would  its  life  confine  ! 

Evil  shall  boast  not  perpetuity. 

Since  every  soul,  however  fall'n,  is  'Inme. 

Thine,  by  thy  various  discipline,  to  lead 

To  heights  where  heavenly  truths  immortal  shine  ;< 
Truths,  none  eternally  shall  fail  to  heed, 

For  all,  0  Lord,  are  Thine,  forever  Thine. 

437 


428  "AI.L   SOULS   AEE   MINE." 

Forgive  the  thought,  that  everlasting  ill 

To  any  can  be  part  of  Thy  design ; 
Finite,  imperfect,  erring,  guilty,  —  still 

All  souls,  great  God,  are  Thine,  —  and  mercy  Thine. 

The  soul,  its  own  inquisitor,  respects 

No  other  claim  save  that  Thy  words  enshrine  ; 

In  its  serene  profundity  reflects 

No  power  beyond  and  over  it  save  Thine. 

And  Poesy  her  voice  accordant  lends 

When  highest  rapture  wings  her  flight  divine, 

Notes  of  immortal  cheer  forever  blends 

With  those  proclaiming.  Lord,  all  souls  are  Thine. 

"  All  souls  are  Mine  " !  Who  shrinks  to  yield  his  breath, 
Whose  child-like  faith  can  on  those  words  recline  ? 

Come  with  thy  scourges.  Fate !  Come,  Anguish,  Death, — 
Since  God  himself  hath  said ;  "  All  souls  are  Mine  " ! 


Slje  5avmxr  of  :3lll. 


W«  tnut  in  the  living  God  who  is  the  Saviour  of  all  men,  especially  of  I 
believe.  —  1  Timothy,  iv.  10. 


"  Saviour  of  all  "  —  on  that  we  lean  — 
Who  shall  our  trast  gainsaj'-  ? 

What  earth-born  cloud  shall  intervene 
To  hide  that  heavenly  ray  "^ 

Not  to  this  life,  redeeming  grace 

Is  partially  confined ; 
It  knoweth  neither  time  nor  place, 

And  visits  every  mind. 

The  Saviour  is  a  Saviour  still 

Through  being's  endless  scope ; 

Winning  the  soul  from  woe  and  ill, 

Never  withholding  hope. 

429 


430  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  though  the  present  aye  must  be 
The  truBj  th'  accepted  hour^ 

We  cannot  from  His  mercy  flee, 
His  sin-subduing  power. 

Then  in  the  living  God  we'll  tniat, 
Who  doeth  all  things  well ; 

The  body  shall  return  to  dust, 
The  poul  in  heaven  shall  dwelL 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


PAGE 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) Ldrjh  Hunt 172 

A  cloud  lay  cradled  near  the  setting  sun John  Wilson 166 

A  dew-drop  falling  on  the  ocean  wave i?.  C.  French 266 


.     198 
.      17 

Again  the  violet  of  our  early  days 

..Ebenezer  Elliott .... 

Again  thou  reignest  in  thy  golden  hall  

. .  W.  S.  jRoscoe 

.      18 

A  good  that  never  satisfies  the  mind 

.  .Dvummond   . 

6 

Ah  !  when  did  wisdom  covet  length  of  days 

..Anonymous 

.     373 

A  little  child,  beneath  a  tree 

. .  Charles  Mackmj 

.     273 

All  are  not  taken  ;  there  are  left  behind 

...E.B.  Broicninrj  ... 

.       34 

All  nature  ministers  to  Hope.     The  snow 

. .  H.  Coleridge 

.      98 

All  souls,  0  Lord,  are  Thine  ;— assurance  blest . . . 

. .  C.  H.  Townshend  . . 

.     427 

AH  speaks  of  change  *  the  renovated  forms 

Sir  H  Davy 

372 

All  things  tliat  are  on  earth  shall  pass  away 

...  W.  C.  Bryant 

.       45 

All  true  glory  rests 

. .  Wordsworth 

.     Ill 

And  as  the  vesper  hymn  of  Time  precedes 

..P.J.Bailey 

.     296 

And  is  there  care  in  Heaven  ?  And  is  there  love  . 

..Spenser 

.     3G4 

And  this  place  my  forefathers  made  for  man  !  . . . 

..S.  T.  Coleridge 

.     104 

Are  ye  forever  to  your  skies  departed  ? 

. .  3frs.  Henians 

222 

Art  thou  a  type  of  beauty,  or  of  power 

..Aubrey  Be  Yere .... 

.       20 

As  men  from  men 

.     114 
.       55 

As  shadows  cast  by  cloud  and  sun 

. .  W.  C.  Bryant 

At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light 

..Anonymous 

.     378 

Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saints 

..Milton    

9 

Awake,  awake,  my  little  boy  ! 

..William  Blake 

.      65 

.     181 

Behold  the  storm-beat  wanderer  in  repose 

..E.  Bulwer  Lytton.. 

Believe  and  pray.     Who  can  believe  and  pray 

..n.  Coleridge 

.     100 

Be  not  afraid  to  pray— to  pray  is  right 

..  "        "         

.       30 

Bitter  the  anguish  with  these  two  words  blended . 

. .  Bernard  Barton  . . . 

.     184 

Bold  is  the  life,  and  deep  and  vast  in  man 

120 

Bound  upon  th'  accursed  tree 

..H.H.  Mihnan 

58 
189 

But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day 

. .  Tfiomas  3{oore 

Call  all  who  love  Thee,  Lord  !  to  Thee 

..P.  J.  Bailey 

431 

295 

432                            INDEX     OF     Fill  ST 

LINES. 

PAGE 

Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God     

MvS   IliJTLCinS 

220 

Care-charmer  Sleep,  son  of  the  sable  Night  

...Sanmel  Daniel 

4 

Christians,  awake,  salute  the  happy  morn 

.  John  Biivoifn 

59 

Could  I  command,  with  voice  or  pen 

86 

Death  is  a  road  our  dearest  friends  have  gone. . . . 

...Leigh  Hunt 

..     1?,' 

Deep  on  the  convent-roof  the  snows 

...A.  Tennyson 

.      82 

Die  down,  0  dismal  day  !  and  let  me  live. 

. .  David  Gray 

41 

Do  and  suffer  nought  in  vain  !    

. . .  Ebenezer  Elliott 

411 

Doos^  the  road  wind  up  hill  all  the  way  ? 

...  (7.  G.  Rossetti  .... 

.      63 

Do  not  beguile  my  heart 

. . .  George  Herbert .... 

.      71 

Dost  thou,  amid  the  rapturous  glow 

...A.  Norton 

.     133 

Ere  thou  wast  born  "into  this  breathing  world •". 

...H  Coleridge 

.      92 

Eternal  and  Omnipotent  Unseen 

. . .  Horace  Smith 

.      16 

Eternal  Mind  !  creation's  Light  and  Lord  ! 

.  ..John  Sterling 

.     118 

Eternal  spirit  of  the  chalnless  mind 

. .  Byron 

.      20 

Every  human  tie  may  perish 

...Kdley 

.     365 

Farewell  life  I  My  senses  swim 

. .  Thomas  Hood 

.     273 

Far  in  a  wild,  unknown  to  public  view 

. .  Thos.  Parnell    

.     232 

Father  and  God  !  whose  love  and  mio-ht 

Horace  Smith 

123 

Father  of  all  !  In  every  age 

..Alexander  Pope  . . . 

.     217 

Fatiier  of  our  feeble  race  ! 

.  ..Jane  Taylor 

.     419 

Father  !  thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand 

. . .  Jones  Very 

.      65 

Flowers  !  when  the  Saviour's  calm,  benignant  eye 

. .  3f7-s.  Heinans 

22 

Fond  words  have  oft  been  spoken  to  thee,  Sleep. 

. .  Wordsworth 

.       12 

Forever  with  the  Lord 

.  Montgomery 

.     155 

For  man  there  still  is  left  one  sacred  charter 

. .  Horace  Smith 

.     130 

Four  seasons  fill  the  measure  of  the  j'ear 

..Keats 

.      26 

Friend  of  my  earliest  years  and  childi:^h  days 

..  Charles  Lamb 

.      15 

From  north  and  south,  from  east  and  west 

...Butcher 

.     361 

From  the  birth                            

.  .Akenside 

.    422 

From  the  recesses  of  a  lowly  spirit 

.  .John  Bowring 

.     137 

Give  evil  but  an  end— and  all  is  clear  ! 

..C.H.   Townshend.. 

.     306 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears 

.  P.  Gerhardt 

.     381 

God  is  love  :  His  mercy  brightens 

. .  Bowring 

.    421 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

. .  Cowper 

.     396 

God  of  my  life !  and  Author  of  my  days 

..Mrs.  Barbaidd 

.     243 

God  rest  you,  merry  gentlemen 

..Anonymous 

.      53 

God's  voice  doth  sometimes  fall  on  us  with  fear 

De  Vere  

.     361 

God  took  thee  in  his  mercy 

.  .3frs.  Sou f hey 

161 

Go  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star 

. .  Thomas  Moore 

190 

Hail !  new-waked  atom  of  the  eternal  whole 

..Anonymous 

351 

Ho  has  gone  to  his  God;  he  has  gone  to  his  home. 

..A.  Norton 

131 

He  scndeth  sun.  He  sendcth  showers 

..S.  F.  Adam^ 

276 

He  taught  the  cheerfulness  that  still  is  ours  

. .  Lamon  Blanchard  . 

385 

INDEX    OF     FIRST     LINES. 
He  who  w<atches  winds  that  blow T^M-nard  Ttnrfnn 

433 

PAGE 

.:   186 

. .     193 

..       68 

..       24 

63 

His  praLse,  ye  brooks,  attune,  j'e  trembling  rills. . 
How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 

..  Thoni-'^on 

.  Gwrge  Herbert 

How  many  blessed  groups  this  hour  are  bending. 

How  many  days  with  mute  adieu 

How  mournful  seems,  in  broken  dreams 

How  much  Thy  Holy  Name  hath  been  misused. . 
How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 
How  soon  hath  Time,  the  subtle  thief  of  youth. . 

How  sweet  it  were,  if,  without  feeble  fright 

How  sweetly  doth  My  Master  sound  !— My  Master 

If  aught  can  teach  us  aught,  affliction"'s  looks 

If  I  have  sinned  in  act  I  may  repent 

If  it  mu«t  be  ■  if  it  mu«t  be  O  God '                

..3Irs.  Hemans 

. .  T.  3IUler. . . . 

. .  Mrs.  Norton 

..H.  CokHdge 

..       66 
..       99 
..     409 

.  Milton 

. .  Leigh  Hunt 

\ .  Geoirje  Herbert ... . 

. .  Sir  John  Davies. . . 

.  H.  Coleridge 

. .  David  Gray 

8 
..     171 
..       69 

..     200 
..     101 
..       39 
..     350 
..     110 
..       73 
..       46 
..       23 
..       91 

.       95 
..     421 

.       10 
..     204 
..       59 
..     210 
..     206 
. .       30 
..       76 
..       14 

.      50 

.     173 

.     174 
.     215 

.       96 
.     149 
.     102 
.     288 
.     405 
.       12 
.      97 
.      21 
.     420 
.       48 
.     134 

If  yon  bright  stars  which  gem  the  night 

I  have  seen                                         

..Anonymous  ....... 

..  Wordsivorth 

I  hear  thee  speak  of  the  better  land 

I  love,  and  have  some  cause  to  love,  the  earth 

I  met  that  image  on  a  mirthful  day 

I  need  a  cleansing  change  within 

..Mrs.  Hemans 

.F.  Quarks 

. .  Mrs.  Hemans 

..77.  Coleridge 

..Philip  Doddridge . 

Interval  of  srratef  ul  "hade                         

In  vain  to  me  the  smiling  mornings  shine 

Is  it  to  go  to  church  to-day            ...... 

. .  Thos.  Gray 

.  .Eeginald  Heber . . . 

Is  this  a  fast— to  keep 

I  think  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 

It  is  a  place  wliere  poet'^  crowned    .          

..Heivnck 

..E.  B.  Browniiig... 

It  is  not  death,  that  some  time  in  a  sigh 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud 

. .  Thomas  Hood 

..Mrs.H.B.Stoive.. 
..S.T.  Coleridge.... 
..Alf.  Domett 

. .  Leigh  Hunt 

It  may  indeed  be  phantasy  when  I 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

■Just  as  a  mother  with  sweet  pious  face 

Know'st  thou  the  way  to  that  invisible  shore  ? 

Know  then  this  truth— (enough  for  man  to  know). 

Let  me  not  deem  that  I  was  made  in  vain 

Lift  up  thine  eyes,  afflicted  soul 

Like  one  pale,  flitting,  lonely  gleam 

Listen  all  ve  Christian  people 

.A.  de  Lamartine  . . 
. .  Alexander  Pope  . . . 

.H.  Coleridge 

.  77.  Coleridge 

Mary  Hoivitt 

Listen,  awake,  in<iuire 

Lo  !  in  the  burning  west,  the  craggy  nape 

Lone  in  the  wilderness,  her  child  and  she 

Look  what  iinmortal  floods  the  sunset  pours 

Lord  !  come  too  many  gifts  from  Thee 

Lord  Thou  hast  ^iven  me  a  cell                      

.Anonyjnotcs 

Wordswo7^th  .... 

.77.  Coleridge 

.B.  W.Procter 

.T.H.  Gill 

Herrick 

Lord  !  when  I  seek  Thy  face,  I  feel     ,   . .     

.John  Bowring 

434  INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES. 

PAGE 

Lo  !  the  lilies  of  the  field Reginald  Heber 201 

Lo  !  the  seal  of  death  is  breaking Anonymous  356 

Lowly  and  solemn  be Anonymous 414 

Man  can  build  nothing  worthy  of  his  Maker Dr.  Ghatfield 178 

Man,  to  this  narrow  sphere  confined,  r Jam£S  Monlgonienj . .  148 

IMiglity  in  faith  and  hope,  why  art  thou  sad  ? Alice  Carey 381 

Most  glorious  Lord  of  life  !  that  on  this  day Sjjenser 3 

Mother  !  whose  vu-gin  bosom  was  uncrost Wordsworth 13 

My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with 

Thee J.  B.  Lowell 393 

My  friend,  thou  sorrowest  for  thy  golden  prime W.  C.  Bryant 191 

My  heart  is  sick,  my  whole  head  drooping  faints — Blackwood'' s  Mag —  382 

My  Lord,  my  God  ! .^ P.J.  Bailey 297 

Mysterious  night  !  when  our  first  parent  knew J.  B.  Wiite 425 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hand Anonymous 390 

Name  her  not,  the  guilty  one Mary  Howitt 290 

Nay,  shrink  not  from  the  word  farewell  ! Bernard  Barton.  ...  186 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee ,....S.F.  Adams 277 

Night  without  star  or  eve  or  dawning,  gloom 27io''s  L.  Harris 375 

No  cloud  obscures  the  summer  sky Anonymous 362 

No  comfort,  nay,  no  comfort,  yet  would  I Sydney  Dohell 38 

Nor  think,  though  men  were  none John  Milton 115 

Nothing  good  shall  ever  perish J.  Hagen 397 

Not  in  this  green  retreat Epes  Sargent 257 

Not  to  the  grave,  not  to  the  grave,  my  soul Eohert  Sonthey 154 

Now,  while  the  long  delaying  ash  assumes David  Gray — . 40 

O  brooding  spirit  of  wisdom  and  of  love Sir  W.  B.  Hamilton.  31 

October's  gold  is  dim -the  forests  rot David  Gray 40 

O  ever  skilled  to  wear  the  form  we  love  ! //.  M.  Williams 10 

Oft  have  I  sat  in  secret  siglis Isaac  Watts 413 

O  God,  impart  thy  blessing  to  my  cries Charles  Turner 32 

O  how  blest  are  ye  whose  toils  are  ended H.  W.  Longfelloio  ...  386 

Oh,  fear  not  thou  to  die  ! Mrs.  Southey 160 

O  height  that  doth  all  height  excel T.  H  Gill  407 

Oh,  if  we  are  not  bitterly  deceived iV.  P.  Willis 400 

Oh,  there  has  many  a  tear  been  shed Anonymous-  365 

Oh  !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear Thomas  Moore 188 

Oh,  yes  !  there  is  joy  in  sincerely  believing .  ..Mrs.  S.  C.  E.  Mayo. .  367 

Oh,  yet  we  tmst  that  somehow  good Alfred  Tennyson 62 

O  ignorant  poor  man  !  what  dost  thou  bear Sir  John  Davies 197 

O,  it  is  hard  to  work  for  God F.  W.  Faber 56 

Once  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  traversed  the  land. . . Horace  Smith 123 

Once  we  thought  tliat  Power  Eternal Charles  Mackay 283 

One  more  unfortunate Thomas  Hood 269 

Ope,  ope,  my  soul  !  around  thee  press //.  New 374 

Or  is  our  being's  only  end  and  aim 0.  W.  Holmes 212 


INDEX     OP     FIRST 

LI  NES. 

435 

PAGE 

0  Solitude  !  if  I  must  with  thee  dwell 

....John  Keats 

.        25 

.       26 
.     250 

0,  thou  great  Being  !  what  thou  art 

Robert  Burns 

0  thou  eternal  One  !  whose  presence  bright 

.John  Bowring 

.      78 

0  Time  !  who  know'st  a  lenient  hand  to  lay 

....IF.  L.  Bowles 

.      11 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting 

....TF.  Wordsworth 

.     105 

Ours  is  a  lovely  world  !  how  fair 

Johti  Bowring 

.     138 

Out  of  the  depths  of  woe 

James  Montgomery 

.     150 

.     165 

.     103 

0  Wedding-Guest  this  soul  hath  been 

....S.  T.  Coleridge  .... 

0  !  would  you  be  assured  you  love  your  God. . . 

....Caroline  Fry 

.     406 

0  ye  wild  groves,  0  where  is  now  your  bloom  . . 

James  Beattie 

.     2-41 

Poor  soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth 

Shakespeare 

5 

Pour  blessed  Gospel,  glorious  news  for  man  ! . . 

....C.  Ashworth 

.     363 

Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire 

—  Montgomery 

.      60 

Eeligions— f  rom  the  soul  deriving  breath 

Horace  Smith 

.     121 

Rise,  said  the  Master,  come  unto  the  feast 

....H.Alford 

.      37 

Sad  doth  it  seem,  but  nought  is  really  sad 

....H.  Coleridge 

.      94 

Sad  night  for  us,  but  better  day  for  her 

....H.  Coleridge 

.      93 

Sad  soul,  whom  God,  resuming  what  He  gave. . 

....TF.  C.  Roscoe 

.      38 

....C.  H.  Townshend  . 

.     429 
.     100 

She  sat  and  wept  beside  his  feet ;  the  weight. . 

....H.  Coleridge 

Since  Nature's  works  be  good,  and  death  doth  serve.  »Sir  P.  Sidney 

4 

Sleep,  Silence'  child,  sweet  father  of  soft  rest. . 

Brummond 

6 

Sometimes  a  light  surprises 

Cowper 

.       85 

Soul  !  fear  not  lest  the  harmony 

—  Lamartine 

.     403 

Speak  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet.. . 

E.  B.  Browning. . . 

.      36 

Stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  ' 

. .   Wo7'dsworth 

.     112 
.     185 

Still  abide  the  heaven-born  Three 

—  Bernard  Barton... 

Still  prayers  are  strong,  and  God  is  good 

John  Sterling 

.     117 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love 

A.  Tennyson 

.     142 

Sweet  bird,  that  sing'st  away  the  early  hours  .  . 

Drimimond 

7 

Sweet  Dove  !  the  softest,  steadiest  plume 

....Keble 

.     423 

Tauler,  the  preacher,  walked  one  autumn  day. . 

Whittier 

.     298 

Tell  me,  ye  winged  winds  

Mackay 

.      83 

Thank  God,  bless  God,  all  ye  who  suffer  not . . . 

E.  B.  Browning  .. 

.      35 

The  air  of  death  breathes  through  our  souls 

John  Wilson 

.     162 

The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me 

John  Bowring 

.     140 

The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast 

Isaac  Williams 

.       87 

The  crackling  embers  on  the  hearth  are  dead. . . 

H.  Coleridge 

.       28 

The  crimson  moon,  uprising  from  the  sea 

Lord  Tharlow.... 

.      16 

The  dead  alone  are  great 

H.Alford 

.     378 

The  dew  is  on  the  summer's  greenest  grass  .... 

Robert  Nicoll 

.     303 

The  fame  of  those  pure  bards  whose  fancies  lie. 

Talfourd 

..       27 

The  fear  of  hell's  a  hangman's  whip 

Burns, 

.     348 

436                             INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES. 
The  gem,  to  which  the  artist  did  entrust C,  Turner. 


The  insect  bursting  from  its  tomb-like  bed 

..Anonymous 

379 

The  prayers  I  make  will  then  be  sweet  indeed 

.M.  Angelo 

384 

The  soul  of  a  man  is  larger  than  the  sky 

.H.  Coleridge 

28 

The  toils  of  alchemists,  whose  vain  pursuit 

.Horace  Smith 

127 

The  world  may  change  from  old  to  new 

.;S^.  F.  Adams 

..Burns 

275 
249 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man 

There  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read 

.Keble 

404 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep 

..Montgomo-y 

151 

There  is  an  aAvf ul  quiet  in  the  air 

.H.  Coleridge: 

.      29 

There  is  a  tongue  in  every  leaf 

..Mrs.  Southey 

156 

There  is  in  every  human  heart 

.John  Boivring 

139 

There  is  no  remedy  for  time  misspent 

. .  Sir  Aubrey  de  Vere. 

19 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light 

..Henry  Vaughan 

74 

Think  ever  of  the  dead 

..Anonymous 

358 

Think  upon  death,  'tis  good  to  think  of  death 

..H.  Coleridge 

97 

This  dull  dark  strife  with  unillumined  souls 

.Leopold  Scheffer.... 

230 

This  w^orld  is  all  a  fleeting  show 

. .  Thomas  Moore 

73 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  de 

plore  thee 

.  .Reginald  Heber 

202 

Thou  art  not  lost— thy  spirit  giveth 

.Anonymous 

366 

Thou  art,  0  God,  the  life  and  light 

.  Thomas  Moore 

72 

Though  earth  has  full  many  a  beautiful  spot 

.Bernard  Barton 

183 

Thou,  to  our  woe,  who  down  didst  come 

.T.  H.  Gill 

426 

Thou  who  in  the  midnight  silence 

.  Charles  Mackay 

285 

Thrice  happy  he  whom  through  each  devious  path 

.  Anonymotis 

360 

Through  the  cross  comes  the  crown  ;  when  the 

cares  of  this  life 

.Kosegarten 

389 

'Tie  done  !  dread  winter  spreads  his  latest  glooms. 

. .  James  Thomson 

195 

'Tis  nature's  law 

110 
394 

'Tis  written  with  the  pen  of  heavenly  love 

.Anonymous 

To  halls  of  heavenly  truth  admission  wouldst  thou 

win 

.It.  C.  French 

.Mrs.  Barbauld 

263 
246 

To  learned  Athens,  led  by  fame 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mournin"  homes.               .     . . 

..Whittier 

.Mrs.  Southey 

301 
158 

Tread  softly— bow  the  head 

Unfading  Hope  ;  when  life's  last  embers  burn. . . . 

.Thomas  Camjibell... 

251 

Upon  your  heart  this  truth  may  rise 

.  R.M.MUnes 

391 

Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  Virtue  would 

.John  Milton 

116 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame 

..Pope 

78 

"Wait  !  for  the  day  is  breaking 

.C.  H.  Townshend... 
.  Reginald  Heber 

347 
203 

Wake  not,  oh  mother  !  sounds  of  lamentation 

We  walked  within  the  churchyard  bonds 

.  Anonymous 

369 

What  are  we  set  on  earth  for  ?    Say,  to  toil 

.E.  B.  Browning 

36 

What  art  thou.  Mighty  One,  and  where  thy  seat. . , 

.H.K.  Wiite 

18 

INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES.  437 

PAGE 

What  change  is  this!   What  joy!    What  depth  of 

rest .• LeigJi  Huvt 167 

What  joyful  harvester  did  e'er  obtain Francis  Quarles 267 

What  shall  I  do,  lest  life  in  silence  pass  ? Anonymous 371 

When  all  Thy  mercies,  O  ray  God Joseph  Addison 401 

When  canting  hypocrites  combine Charles  Mackay 281 

When  coldness  wraps  this  suffenng  clay Byron 261 

When  faith  and  love,  which  parted  from  thee  ue\er.3Iilfon 8 

When  God  at  first  made  man George  Herbert 387 

When  1  behold  yon  arch  magnificent Kehle 22 

When  I  consider  all  the  things  that  were H.  Coleridge 98 

When  I  consider  how  my  life  is  spent Milton 116 

When  some  beloveds  'neath  whose  eyelids  lay E.  B.  Broivning 34 

Where  are  the  mighty  ones  of  ages  past  ? Anony?nous 3"4 

Where  is  damnation  ? C.  H.  Toivnshend 346 

While  the  angels  are  all  singing Breton 399 

Whilst  Thee  I  seek,  protecting  power  ! H.  M.  Williatiis 395 

Whither,  oh  !  whither  wilt  thou  wing  thy  way  ? Mrs.  Ilemans 24 

Who  was  it  that  so  lately  said R.  C.  French 265 

Why  then  their  loss  deplore,  that  are  not  lost  ? Edward  Young 223 

Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away Keble 415 

With  stammering  lips  and  insufficient  sound E.  B.  Browning 33 

With  what  unknown  delight  the  mother  smiled Jane  Taylor 389 

Witness  Thou  ! John  Wilson 164 


Yea,  we  do  differ,  differ  still  we  must H.  Coleridge 93 

Ye  nations,  worship  at  the  call !  Hodgson 386 

Yes,  gentle  time,  thy  gradual,  healing  hand Mary  Tighe 14 

Yes  than  earth's  mightiest  mightier Mary  Howitt 293 

Ye  too,  the  free  and  fearless  birds  of  air Mrs.  Hemans 221 

Ye  who  think  the  truth  ye  sow Fritz  and  Leolett 412 

Young  spirit,  freed  from  bondage Mary  Howitt 292 


